The Blood of an Emperor
by Braxin
Summary: Blood and treachery among the stars, in a sequel to Severance.
1. Chapter 1

*Belen09 had an interesting story line for Malcolm, and shared it in a review to my story, Severance. I loved it and Belen09 was gracious enough to give me a chance to run with it. If I fumbled the idea in the execution, that's all me. Please don't go to the Severance's reviews and read Belen's idea - it will ruin the surprise.

**This is a continuation of the Severance story line, but it can stand alone, as the first chapter pretty much covers the major plot points of Severance.

* * *

 **.  
—Chapter 01—**

Trip held the dagger which the Andorian Emperor Talrood had given him along with the Guards signet ring, when inducting him into the Imperial Guards of Andoria, seemingly so long ago, though he was still a StarFleet officer, as well as an Imperial Guard. It was a thing of beauty, this dagger, thought Trip as he drew the blade from its sheath to look at it for the thousandth time. A ten inch, double edged blade, unbelievably tough and wickedly sharp, it had saved his life once, during the time which the Black Wind Fleet had spent in the Romulan sector on a self-imposed mission of retribution for the Romulan attack on Vulcan.

A dozen Reman boarding parties hit the Ares that day, peppering the ship's hull with breaching pods, and they, the shock troops of the Romulans poured out of those pods. They stormed his flagship, fully expecting to butcher the crew in hand to hand combat, but they received an unpleasant surprise, for the Imperial Guards of his crew were warriors, each and every one of them trained for hand-to-hand combat, and they joined in the clash with the Remans gladly, using dagger and axe, ushaan-tor and phaser. The Vulcans logically relied almost exclusively on phasers, though here and there, Vulcans trained in the traditional Vulcan martial arts engaged the Remans in hand-to-hand bouts of extreme savagery. The human contingent relied largely on phasers as well, though here and there a MACO could be seen using a Reman melee weapon, after having wrested it from their now dead opponent.

That day had been a nasty one, thought Trip. He remembered clearly the doors opening and fourteen of those bat faced Remans storming the Bridge. The four MACOs stationed on the Bridge had turned to fire on them quickly, though two of them were brought down almost immediately by a hail of small javelins and several thrown hand axes. The two MACOs still standing managed to take out six Remans with their rifles, before the rest closed the distance with the crew, and a nasty fight for survival commenced, up close and personal..

T'Pol stood out on that day, as she had before, and would do again many times after that day. When four of the remaining Remans charged towards Trip, correctly guessing that he was the ship's captain, T'Pol rushed to engage them.

—NO! BACK OFF!, sent Trip instinctively, his thought traversing through the Bond to reach T'Pol in a fraction of a second: he was terrified, certain that he'd see his love cut down by the Remans.

His stubborn Vulcan mate, however, had her own ideas, and they did not include watching her captain be murdered on the deck of his own ship. It was her duty to defend him, so it was only logical to disobey the captain's lawful orders in this case. She hit the Remans like a wave, in an intricate dance of arms and legs, her training in unarmed combat by the Vulcan Security Directorate's finest instructors her saving grace now.

Three of them she held up, but the fourth Reman slipped past her and got to Trip, tackled him to the ground. They'd grappled for a few moments, before Trip freed a hand, drew his Guard's dagger and drove it repeatedly into the Reman's torso, until that ugly motherfucker had stopped moving. He'd then gained his footing to determine the state of things, and much more importantly, the state of his mate.

T'Pol had disabled one of the Remans, killed another, suffering a nasty cut to the face, an ear ripped half off, a deep cut to her left thigh, two stab wounds to her right arm, two broken fingers and a black eye in the process, but the third Reman was very good and he was giving her trouble. Trip joined his mate, and working together they made short work of him, Trip driving his dagger through the Reman's temple and into the brain using an icepick grip on his dagger, after T'Pol had slammed him against a wall, stunning the creature for a brief moment.

Trip thought back to that day, and smiled, for after the attack was beaten off, T'Pol had noticed his look of concern and tried to make light of it.

"How do I look?" she'd said, looking as if she'd been hit by a truck.

"Gorgeous," he'd said, and smiled.

Her emotional control frayed, T'Pol had openly smiled back at him that day in front of the entire Bridge crew, and Trip had embraced her, then shamelessly kissed her cheek in public, laughing with relief, for he'd been certain that the Remans would kill his mate.

After that assault, Trip began wearing the katana with which he'd killed Koss, the day he'd claimed T'Pol as his own, and it went quite well with the black uniform of Andoria's Imperial Guards, which he'd taken to wearing during their time in the Romulan Sector, though that uniform sported a StarFleet patch on the right arm, to go along with the Emperor's sigil stitched on the left breast of his uniform. So he carried the sword after that day, fully expecting to be chided mercilessly for such a thing initially, but thirty-four ships of the Black Wind had also withstood the Reman boarding parties, and no one thought he was overreacting. For weeks after, the engineers of every ship were occupied cranking out a wide variety of melee weapons for the crew of the Black Wind to carry, if phasers should fail to stop the next Reman wave.

Trip had made T'Pol's weapons precisely to her specifications: a double edged short sword, razor sharp, with a sixteen inch blade, two and a half inches wide, with a Japanese style cord wrapped hilt, and it was paired with a long dagger, styled as the sword, but in smaller dimensions. T'Pol carried them both at her left hip and she'd been trained to use these weapons, separately or together, and although T'Pol was too logical to do so if a phaser was available, she handled them well, and Trip felt better knowing she had them available as an option.

Those days were something else, thought Trip. Of the one hundred ninety nine ships he'd taken into the Romulan sector, he'd lost twenty-three ships and some three thousand crewmen in that sector, although such losses were considered light, in view of a seven month campaign, the ferocity of the Romulans, and the severity of the spanking which the Black Wind had levied on the Romulans.

* * *

"What's Trip doing out there?" said Charlie, Trip's father, looking out the kitchen window at his son, sitting on the dock.

"Just thinking, I reckon," said Angela, Trip's mother, as she chopped vegetables. "It's good to have him back, Charlie, but he's changed. One minute he's my boy, the next a stranger."

"War will do that, Angela. I imagine he was hoping the Romulans would kill him, before he had to face you," said Charlie with a laugh, grabbing Angela and pulling her close for a kiss on the cheek.

"Stop it, you fool," said Angela, swatting half-heartedly at her husband. "But you're right about one thing, if I could have gotten my hands on him last year, I'd have killed him with my bare hands, for almost getting himself cut down by that Vulcan, Koss, over T'Pol. I can't believe he did that! What if he had gotten himself killed?!"

Charlie laughed, seeing Angela about to whip herself into a retroactive frenzy over Trip's decisions, and rushed over to soothe his wife.

"There, there," he said, rubbing Angela's shoulders. "It's ok, honey, that's over with…"

"Well, what about this damned war with the Romulans," said Angela, agitated now. "He was supposed to be an engineer of the exploration ship Enterprise, not serving on ship of war. And certainly not on that red ship of his that looks like a bull's eye to me!"

The footage from the Battle of Vulcan had made it to Earth's news service a few days later, and the Tuckers were glued to the television screens all the way up to the end, when that damned double Iron Circle warped in on the Romulan's rear and blasted them to hell and back, while the ships of the Red Line poured it on like crazy from the front, in a display of firepower never before seen by humans.

More shocking still, the military press officer named that fleet the Black Wind Fleet, commanded by Fleet Captain Charles Tucker from the Ares, and used his laser pointer to pick out the red Andorian battlecruiser in the center of the Iron Circle. No one knew Trip had made captain to begin with, and Angela just about had a stroke at the thought of her boy in the middle of that firefight. And she came even closer to a stroke a few days later, when news footage showed photos taken earlier of Trip standing next to a beautiful Vulcan on Andoria, and named her T'Pol, his Vulcan mate, and described the Vulcan ritual of kal-if-fee by which Trip had acquired T'Pol's hand. Though Charlie didn't know about the kal-if-fee, he knew about the marriage, and had kept it a secret, wishing to give his son the gift of surprising his family, but now with Trip's secrets unexpectedly outed, his wife's voice wound up to a higher and higher pitch, giving the town's air powered tornado siren a run for its money. And then, to top it all off, her boy had disappeared into Romulan space for seven months and all the footage StarFleet got back from the Black Wind was one horrible battle after another.

"It's a wonder that I've got any hair left, Charlie, the way I was tugging on it those seven long months!"

"Come on, hon," said Charlie, kissing her neck, "it's all right. He's here, isn't he?"

"I guess," said Angela, her ruffled feathers being gently pressed down by Charlie's tender ministrations, "but I swear, that boy's got a death wish or something."

"Well," said Charlie, "if he has the nerve to get himself killed, I know he'll wait for you on the other side, shaking like a leaf, 'cause he'll know he's in for a hell of a whooping."

"Charlie, I swear, I will blow my brains out if that happens," said Angela, "just to get my hands on him sooner."

"That's my girl," said Charlie. "You'll show Trip, and I'll start dating Kimberly Burr once you're gone. She's got the hots for me and I'll date the hell out of her! Anyway, be nice to those kids, it's their last day here, before they head back to Vulcan."

"You most certainly will not 'date the hell' out of Kimberly Burr, Charlie!" said Angela. "I know she flirts with you, but you know damned well I don't like th—"

"Come on baby, don't be like that, it's not like I encouraged her, or anything. She just knows what she wants, and what she wants is me."

"Charlie Tucker, she is thirty years younger than you!" said Angela, unsure if Charlie was serious, or not. "On top of which she has a reputation."

"I know," said Charlie, with a perverted smile of imaginary anticipation. "She'll probably kill me in the sack, but what a way to go!"

"You're about to go now, you old fool!" said Angela, brandishing her knife.

"I hope I am not interrupting you," said T'Pol, walking into the kitchen from the back patio where she'd been meditating.

"No, hon," said Angela. "Come on in. You're going to be dealing with this kind of foolishness yourself now. The Tucker men go soft in the head as they age."

Charlie laughed at that, and said, "I bet you wish you'd never married into this family now, eh, T'Pol?"

"Quite the opposite is true, Charlie," said T'Pol, meaning it.

She'd met hundreds of Tuckers in her two months on Earth, where she and Trip had come in order that she be introduced to her mate's family, and it did not turn out as she'd expected. She had been secretly dreading the thought of meeting Trip's family, certain that they would reject her, as an alien and particularly as a Vulcan, but quite the opposite was true, helped by the fact that the Tuckers were on the whole, quite unconventional, and some of them quite brilliant. Best of all, compared to some of the eccentric characters in this clan she was comfortably average, so far as standing out. It was also gratifying that they truly treated her like family, and if they accidentally transgressed Vulcan mores, by pressing her with hug or kiss, they also apologized for it sincerely once they realized how uncomfortable T'Pol was with such physical contact. No, despite her predictions, T'Pol was quite pleased with the new half of her family.

"You look very cute, hon," said Angela, eyeing her new daughter-in-law.

Trip had bought T'Pol some beachwear on their first day in Florida, some Capris, some shorts, some cute tops, a big floppy hat and a few pairs of sandals, and T'Pol had on her favorite blue Capris, with a yellow halter top and some sandals, looking quite at ease, and a world away from the prim, proper and very nervous, though trying hard to hide it, Vulcan which Trip had brought home that first day.

"Thank you," said T'Pol. "Have you seen Trip?"

"Yeah, darling," said Charlie, "he's out on the dock, brooding, looks like. Go cheer him up."

T'Pol joined Trip on the dock, sitting next to him after running her hands through his hair, and kissing him on the cheek. She felt remarkably free with him here, away from the eyes of others, Vulcan and StarFleet both.

"I am going to miss this place just as much as you when we leave," said T'Pol, earnestly.

"We'll be back, T'Pol," said Trip. "We'll have a place on Vulcan and a place here as well. My parents have five acres, and dad's suggested I build us a house on my next leave. I think it's part of his plot to lure us here more often."

"You could do that? Build a house?"

"I'm an engineer, baby," said Trip. "I could build us a sweet beach house in a matter of weeks."

"That would be nice, Trip," said T'Pol. "I still can not believe you got me out there in that wild ocean."

"Yeah," said Trip, laughing to himself, for since that day T'Pol had indulged in flights of fancy, in which she compared herself to a seasoned sailor, a veritable seadog, and a pirate princess.

Trip had spent a great deal of time on the water, fishing, surfing, swimming, scuba diving, sailing, all while T'Pol remained securely on shore, for the vastness of the ocean was intimidating to the daughter of a desert planet, but finally, she'd allowed Trip to lead her out in four feet of water, where he taught her how to swim, and then allowed Trip to take her out in the deep aboard a Sea-Doo personal watercraft, which was like riding a motorcyle on the ocean. She'd felt so brave that day, and Trip had rewarded her courage with a lengthy make out session under the shade of some palm trees. She truly would miss this place, the very minute they left. Even the summertime temperatures which had Humans panting like dogs, felt like perfection to a Vulcan.

* * *

"It's been too long," said Rear Admiral Archer, looking at Trip and T'Pol, a smile on his face. "I can't believe you're leaving tomorrow. It's too soon."

"Doctor Phlox will miss you also," said Lieutenant Mayweather, punching Trip on the arm. "You're his star patient: what, thirty-four visits to Sick Bay in some state of serious medical distress?"

"Don't tease him about that, Travis," said Hoshi sternly, her Lieutenant's bars shining brightly.

The entire crew of the Enterprise had been bumped up in rank on their return from the Delphic Expanse, and put on a fast track for further promotions in view of the hardships they suffered in the Expanse, and their dedication to the completion of what was widely viewed as a suicide mission. To his delight, Archer had managed to avoid a prestigious desk job back at HQ, and retain command of the Enterprise, as his flagship.

"Yeah," said Trip, eyeing the waitress and signalling for a refill on everyone's drink order, "we've been gone for a while. By the time we return we'll be serving under Admiral Sato and Grand Admiral Mayweather, the way you guys are getting promoted."

"You're not wrong," said Archer, with a smile. "Treaties have been signed and the navies of the Federation will grow noticeably in size in the next few years, although we'll all be adopting the StarFleet designation, regardless of planet of origin. The Tellarites are petitioning to be accepted to the Federation, the Risans and Denobulans are considering it, as are the Xyrillians, and there will be more, in time."

"What about Malcolm?" said Trip, for Malcolm had made Lt-Commander for his service to Talrood, a crucial ally to Earth and Vulcan, not for his service aboard the Enterprise against the Xindi.

"He makes Commander when he's assigned to a ship. He's kind of floating in limbo right now, with him just taking his leisure on Andoria. Speaking of which, that's a snazzy uniform," said Archer, noting Trip's black Guards uniform. "Not regulation though."

"So let the Admiralty fire me if they don't like it," said Trip. "Frankly, I'd welcome that decision. It would give me a chance to slip a couple of buns in the oven."

The humans laughed at that, but T'Pol was confused.

"I do not understand the reference," said T'Pol, looking around the table for an explanation.

"Just as well," said Trip. "It refers to a mysterious concept, far beyond Vulcan comprehension."

"If you say so, Captain," said T'Pol, making a mental note to investigate the meaning of the Captain's words at the earliest opportunity.

Reaching into his vest pocket, Archer drew out a PADD and slid it towards T'Pol, with a smile.

"Now, speaking of promotions," said Archer. "Congratulations T'Pol. You've just made captain, and you command the Ares."

"What about Fleet Captain Tucker?" said T'Pol, without picking up the PADD. "The Ares is his ship."

"He already got his promotions, first to Captain, then to Fleet Captain, due to Talrood's influence," said Archer.

"Thanks a lot," said Trip, shooting Jon a dark look.

"I don't mean it like that, Trip," said Jon, reaching out to tousle Trip's hair. "It's just that the Emperor was the first to see in you the kind of command potential you've displayed, and he was 100% right. The rest of us were blinded by seeing you as an engineer, but to be fair, it's not often one goes from Chief Engineer to Fleet Captain in a matter of months."

"All right," said Trip, "you're forgiven."

"Anyway, Command just wanted to make sure you could handle a fleet before making it official, and you guys proved yourselves in spades, so it's official now. The Black Wind even made it into our instructional manuals at StarFleet Academy due to your Romulan Sector Campaign."

"His ship, Admiral?" said T'Pol, bringing the conversation back to Trip's command. "If my mate is being transferred to another fleet—"

"No, T'Pol," said Archer. "Nothing changes there. Trip may continue to make the Ares his flagship, but you are its captain now."

"Yeah," said Trip, "I'm going to take advantage of this opportunity to mix things up a bit."

"Your fleet, your call," said Archer. "What do you have in mind, Trip?"

"Yes," said T'Pol, turning her head to look at Trip. "Tell us, Fleet Captain Tucker, what DO you have in mind? I trust that you are not looking to abandon my ship, just yet, for I would take that as a personal affront."

"Actually, I was thinking of filling a ship with Vulcan, Andorian and Human beauties," said Trip, and Hoshi, Travis and Archer laughed, knowing that T'Pol's jealousy was a very real thing, despite the fact that it was never acknowledged, "and going to a clothes optional dress code. It would be a bold new step in the integration of our forces. Naturally, I would make that ship my flagship, in order to show my support for creating an even more amicable atmosphere between our respective species."

Trip took a drink, his eyes twinkling as he watched T'Pol over the rim of his glass, but the Vulcan refused to rise to the bait, merely looking back at Trip, a composed look on her face.

—I would rethink that plan, if I were you, sent T'Pol through the Bond. I do not think it would end well for you, Fleet Captain Tucker.

—You're probably right, sent Trip, along with a feeling of amusement at the implied threat in T'Pol's words, and then a feeling of pride in his mate. The Ares is a hell of a ship, T'Pol. I want you out there on the hull, sponge in hand, washing her down every Sunday. Congratulations, Captain!

—Thank you, Trip. I would like to say that I could not have done it without you, but I was actually on a stellar trajectory in my career, before I was led astray by you.

"Anyway," said Archer, "you deserve recognition for your loyalty, T'Pol. Command meant to offer you a higher ranking and more prestigious position in StarFleet's bureaucracy back on Earth, but I told them you wouldn't take it unless Trip was also posted to Earth, and he's needed aboard a ship for now. If I was mistaken about that, I can still set things right."

"You were not mistaken, Admiral," said T'Pol, looking at Jon, and pocketing the PADD Archer had given her earlier, reassured that she and her mate would remain together, "and I thank you for looking out for my interests."

Archer nodded, pleased that he knew T'Pol well enough to predict the things which meant most to her. They'd come a long way since he'd fantasized fervently of shoving her out of an air lock.

"They've already converted one of the conference rooms aboard the Ares into a Fleet Captain's Ready Room, at the Jupiter Yards," said Archer. "I've heard it's huge, Trip, your Ready Room that is, and now I'm officially jealous of you. I'm also jealous of Captain T'Pol - her Ready Room on the Ares is twice the size of mine, which feels like a broom closet now."

"In that case, the wife and I will pick up the tab on tonight's drinking binge," said Trip, and a roar of approval rose from Hoshi, Travis and Admiral Archer. "With the fat raise she'll be getting as captain, I can put my feet up and relax. I've made it!"

"Doctor!" said Hoshi, catching sight of the Denobulan, and waving him over to the table.

Trip, already buzzed, rose to give the Denobulan a hug, instead of a handshake. The Doctor was surprised at the greeting, but pleased.

"Your greeting is much appreciated, Fleet Captain Tucker," said Phlox with a sincere smile, "but I suspect you should eat something about now."

T'Pol nodded to the Denobulan, and said, "Forgive him, Doctor. Captain Tucker gets emotional when he drinks. However, it is good to see you again."

"Same here, SubCommander," said Phlox.

"She already knows, Doctor," said Archer.

"Ah," said Phlox, "then I should have said, same here, Captain. Congratulations on a well deserved promotion, T'Pol!"

"Thank you, Doctor," said T'Pol.

"Now," said Travis, "let's get sauced! Our adventuring duo is footing the bill."

"Excellent," said Dr. Phlox, eager to wet his whistle.


	2. Chapter 2

**—Chapter 02—**

Malcolm scrambled to climb atop a twenty foot hill of packed snow in order to gain a better vantage point from which to sight his quarry. Talrood, the Andorian Emperor was right behind him, Lieutenant Talas a few feet behind her liege. Both Andorians carried spears, Talas two of them, while Malcolm carried a slug throwing rifle. A bullet caused less damage to the meat of the animal, than a phaser's energy bolt, and the large unwort they'd been tracking had to be killed suddenly, or the taste of its flesh would be unfavorably affected.

The unwort was one of the many animals imported to Andoria from other ice planets by the Emperor. It came from Betek 7, and it was a curious creature. A large lizard, warm blooded due to its evolution, some fifteen feet on average for a male, not counting the slender ten foot tail, it was a mid to high-level predator in Andoria's ecology, and its rich flesh had the texture of chicken or perhaps swordfish, and a taste strongly reminiscent of crab, and so it was highly valued by Andorians. That it was dangerous to hunt this animal only made it more desirable to the Andorians.

Falling to their knees, and then moving slowly to the top of the hill on their bellies, the human and his two Andorian companions spotted the unwort, some seventy feet away, ripping at some sort of carrion. That he was the only one visible was troubling, for unworts lived and hunted in packs. That meant his pack was aware of them, and closing in on the humanoids as well, each species both hunter, and hunted.

"Highness," said a voice in Talrood's ear piece, from one of the dozen Imperial Guards keeping close watch on their Emperor from several hundred feet above them, in a hovering heli-pad. "You have three large females and a junior male closing in on your position."

"Acknowledged," said Talrood.

"May I suggest that a sniper should eliminate one of the females, Highness?"

"Don't take the sport out of it, Guardsman," said Talrood.

"Yes, Highness," said the unnamed Guard, then looked at the three snipers already set up on the heli-pad: they were ready, and they'd do as they thought best if things got bad enough, no matter what the Emperor commanded. They had their duty.

"Take the shot, Malcolm," said Talrood. "We're about to have company."

A moment's concentration, the timing of the shot to coincide with his breathing and Malcolm pressed the trigger. It was a direct hit to the brain, and a clean kill.

"Malcolm!" said Talas, throwing Malcolm one of two spears she carried, for just as she spoke, the unwort pack started running up the their snow hill.

It was a tense twenty minutes, as unworts snapped and rushed to clamp jaws on the three, while humanoids thrust spears and avoided attacks, until the unworts finally retreated, for there was easier game on the ice for these lizards.

* * *

Finding himself once more on Vulcan, Trip was now certain that T'Pol meant to kill him here, and quietly dispose of his body in some underhanded manner. He suspected that she meant to chop him up, and feed him to the sehlats.

"I can't do it, T'Pol!" said Trip. "I can't, and I won't!"

"You can, and you will, Captain," said T'Pol ruthlessly, as she adjusted the formal Vulcan robes Trip was wearing.

"It's insane, T'Pol!" said Trip. "You want me to wear robes in this heat? It's seven o'clock in the evening, and it's still ninety-eight degrees out there!"

"Yes, but it is a dry heat," said T'Pol. "In any case, this is our cool season."

"Is any of that supposed to be funny?"

"Stop fussing, Trip! You only have to wear these robes for the initial greeting, and then you can take them off. I will not introduce you to my clan looking like a hobo! Better yet, take off your clothes and simply wear the robes. You would be much cooler."

"Is that so, T'Pol?"

"Yes, that is so, Captain. But I have long since given up hope of you ever acting logically."

"Fine!" said Trip, tugging at robes and clothes both. "I hope the wind blows my robes apart and I flash your clan's matriarch, T'Pol."

"Keep your underwear on, Captain Tucker!" said T'Pol. "I can not emphasize that forcefully enough!"

"Oh, God forbid your matriarch should see some human junk," said Trip, stepping on his pants to aid him in their removal. "She'd probably faint."

"Stop playing around, Trip! I have to get ready as well."

"So, go! I can dress myself, T'Pol. I'm not a child, you know!"

"You could have fooled me, Captain Tucker."

* * *

"Today's news from Vulcan," said Talrood, looking at Malcolm.

They dined in a private garden dining room, Talrood's companion, his consort Elarann, along with Malcolm's companion, Lieutenant Talas of the Imperial Guards.

"It seems," said Talrood, "that T'Pol and her mate have found their way to Vulcan. They still have two months of leave, but two months of Vulcan's heat, and he'll be begging to pay us a visit on Andoria."

"It'll be great to see them, Highness," said Malcolm.

Malcolm's eye was suddenly drawn by Elarann whispering something in Talas' ear, as they both looked at him, their antennas dancing. Talas nodded her head, spoke a few words in Elarann's ear, and they both giggled. When Malcolm brought his attention to bear on Talas, her antennas straightened for a moment, then reached out in his direction as Talas put on her wide-eyed innocent look for Malcolm's benefit, a look which could be quite convincing to one unacquainted with Talas' treacherous nature.

"It's been good having you here, Malcolm," said Talrood. "Are you comfortable?"

When the Black Wind Fleet had returned home, he chose to accompany Talas back to her home on Andoria for his four month leave, and when Talrood found out he was there, he'd invited the man to take rooms at the Imperial Palace. Refusing would have been impolite, and rudeness to the Emperor was usually not well received, so Malcolm's path was clear. It actually gave him easy access to Talas, and he and Talrood had struck up a friendship surprisingly enough, and spent long hours discussing the challenges ahead of them all, in dealing with the Romulans, in building of this temporary Federation which Talrood had created, a more stable and long lasting union.

"More than comfortable," said Malcolm. "I've never enjoyed such luxury, Highness. Although…"

"You're a guest and a friend, Malcolm," said Talrood. "Give name to your desire and see it fulfilled."

"It's just that Lieutenant Talas has been quite a thorn in my side lately," said Malcolm, looking for payback from Talas for her clearly conspiratorial exchange with Elarann. "She can be quite difficult at times. As an Imperial Guard, she is duty bound to obey her Emperor's commands, no?"

"She is," said Talrood, smiling, for he knew Malcolm's request would be something that would test Lieutenant Talas' mettle. "To the letter."

"I will suggest to you that Lieutenant Talas needs a dose of discipline. If you agree, then perhaps you'll be good enough to order the good Lieutenant to fulfill my every request for the next thirty days," said Malcolm, giving Talas the grin of a scoundrel. "It would help me rise above the pain she's caused me, Highness."

Talas looked at Malcolm, and though her expression was sweet, and a smile graced her face, there was a murderous glint in her eyes.

"Lieutenant," said Talrood, eyes fixed on Talas, "you've heard Lt-Commander Reed's request, and he is an honored guest here. His desires, my orders."

"Yes, Highness," said Talas, then looked back at Malcolm, her glance inscrutable now.

"Ah," said Malcolm with a sigh. "I expect the next thirty days of my life to be the best I've ever had, after which, I'll probably slip and fall on a Guards dagger, a dozen times or more, or perhaps I'll sleep walk off my balcony, to fall to the ground below."

Talas smiled and looked innocently at Malcolm, as her right hand caressed the hilt of her Guards dagger, then said, "It will be the dagger, Lt-Commander Reed. You can be so clumsy at times."

"That would be shame, Malcolm," said Talrood, laughing, "but we will give you a state funeral, full of pomp and circumstance, to mourn you properly."

"Do not mourn for me, Highness," said Malcolm. "I plan to do a lot of living in these next thirty days."

* * *

"There, Captain," said T'Pol, "that was not that bad, was it?"

Trip silently begged to differ, for he'd met and paid his respects not just to the clan matriarch, but also to another hundred or so of the clan's elders and leaders, all while sweating like a runaway hog in the Florida swamps, beneath the heavy Vulcan robes which T'Pol had claimed would feel so cool. Grudgingly though, he admitted that he would have been twice as hot, wearing his uniform beneath his robes.

"No, it was great," said Trip, allowing only the slightest trace of irony to color his voice.

He still had to meet hundreds of other members of T'Pol's clan who had chosen to attend the ceremony, after the meal was concluded, though thankfully that would take place indoors, and out of consideration for Trip, the air conditioning systems had brought the temperature down to a downright chilly seventy-eight degrees.

A Vulcan teen, brought two silver trays and set them before Trip and T'Pol.

"Thank you, young lady," said Trip with a smile, for he had not yet met the girl.

"A pleasure, Fleet Captain Tucker," said the girl, with a slight smile, for she was still young enough to display some degree of emotions openly. "Welcome to the clan. I am Serra."

"It's good to meet you Serra," said Trip. "I imagine you're a bit disturbed at the thought of having an emotional human admitted to your clan."

"Quite the contrary, Captain Tucker," said Serra. "We are glad to have you, and the consensus is that T'Pol did quite well for herself, when she snared you in her machinations."

"Snared him in my machinations?" said T'Pol, left brow raised. "He claimed me despite my desires, Serra. Believe me, it is a fate I would have rather avoided."

"I am young T'Pol, but do not mistake me for a fool," said Serra. "I see the way you look at your mate."

"She's obsessed with me, Serra, beyond all reason and logic," said Trip, nodding sagely, "and you are wise beyond your years."

Serra gave Trip a small curtsy, a slight smile, and said, "Thank you, Captain. Now I will let you enjoy your food."

"Thanks again, Serra," said Trip, and T'Pol nodded her thanks.

"She's got a great smile," said Trip to T'Pol. "Vulcan diplomatic ventures would go much better if you allowed yourselves at least that degree of emotion."

"Umm, hmm," said T'Pol absently, licking her lips as she looked intently down at her food.

Trip looked down to see a mess tray, divided into nine different sections. At first glance, he made out two kinds of legumes, white basmati rice from Earth, some fried cauliflower lightly spiced, some deep fried pastry triangles stuffed with peas and onions which he'd eaten before, creamed spinach, some relishes, a bowl of soup and some kind of tasty looking cake.

Yum, he thought, looking twice at the cake, and once he tucked into the food, he found it tasty enough.

"Are you going to eat your cake later?" said Trip, hopeful at heart, for T'Pol was not as enslaved by sugar cravings, as he.

"Yes, I am," said T'Pol, then noted Trip's crestfallen look at her answer. "There is plenty of cake, Captain, never fear. Given how good you have been tonight, I will see you stuffed like a goose with honey cake, if that is your desire."

Trip relaxed at that, and turned his attention to the food. Moments later, T'Pol's slight sounds of satisfaction caused Trip to turn his head in order to look at her. She looked back at him and Trip smiled openly, while T'Pol gave him the merest hint of a smile. No matter, he knew his girl was happy.

Later than night, after T'Pol had turned in early, exhausted by the vigorous workout he'd put her through, Trip took the opportunity to look over some of the maintenance and upgrade reports coming from the Black Wind, when he saw T'Les enter the living room, a grumpy look on her face. He smiled.

"Can't sleep?" said Trip.

"No," said T'Les, fiddling around in the kitchen. "I think I ate too much."

"How illogical of you, T'Les," said Trip, teasing his mother-in-law.

"Indeed," said T'Les, and soon after, a hissing sound came from the kitchen, along with the strong scent of coffee.

T'Les had become hooked on coffee since Trip had Bonded T'Pol, seduced by its scent on a daily basis, as Trip had brought the Human drug into her house. Though Vulcans were not affected by caffeine, she found the bitter taste agreeable, and considered Trip's habit of sweetening coffee an outrage. More to the point, T'Les had become something of a coffee snob, and with her sensitive Vulcan sense of smell, and taste, T'Les could name the type of coffee bean, the region in which it was grown, how it was processed, and a number of other meaningless minutia about Earth's coffee.

A few moments later, T'Les joined Trip, setting an expresso cup in front of him, a twin to her own.

"Do not tell T'Pol that I made you coffee this late," said T'Les. "She would kill me."

"Your secret is safe with me, T'Les," said Trip with a smile.

He took a sip and moaned. T'Les really did make the best coffee.

"You were quite a hit today," said T'Les, "though it is hard to see how you could have screwed it up. You have built up a lot of goodwill among Vulcans as the Fleet Captain of the Black Wind on that fateful day."

Trip nodded, looked shrewdly at T'Les, and said, "Something on your mind, T'Les?"

"May I ask a personal question?" said T'Les.

"Why stop now?" said Trip. "Since I've Bonded your daughter, you've already proven that you have no problem asking even the most personal of questions, T'Les. Go for it."

T'Les nodded, and said, "I happen to know for a fact that Vulcan strength and endurance exceeds the Human norm, so how is it that you constantly gain the upper hand over T'Pol in your sexual encounters?"

"Eh?" said Trip, blushing. "What's that?"

"The frequency of your sexual encounters is shocking enough, scandalous even, but given my hearing I find it impossible to ignore the way she begs, pleads, whimpers, sighs and moans when you are bedding her," said T'Les. "Not that I purposefully listen, you understand, but it I overhear things occasionally as I move through the house. She sounds quite emotional. That would be considered a somewhat undesirable trait to many Vulcan males."

"Well, I consider it a virtue, my dear Vulcan mother," said Trip, saved from saying more by T'Pol's sudden appearance.

The recently promoted captain of the Ares gave her mother a jaundiced look and said, "I have asked you repeatedly not to make my mate any coffee past the lunch hour, mother. It will keep him up all night."

"He begged and pleaded relentlessly, T'Pol," said T'Les. "I could not bear it."

"Nevertheless, mother."

"Well, perhaps you two could find some way to amuse each other through the night, if he can not sleep," said T'Les, straight faced, but with a wink for Trip. "Well, I'll have no trouble sleeping. Good night then."

"You are starting to sound like Trip now, mother!" said T'Pol loudly to her mother's back. "Illogical!"

T'Les refused to be drawn out and made a stately exit from the room, as Trip laughed and finished his expresso quickly, lest T'Pol should come to her senses, and toss it out.

"The two of you are conspiring to drive me insane, no? For once she approves of the course my life's choices have taken me," said T'Pol, climbing on Trip's lap, after her mother had left the room, "yet she is still difficult to deal with, even if more pleasant."

"Well, I find her delightful, T'Pol," said Trip, peppering T'Pol's neck with kisses.

* * *

"You've been insufferable all night long, Malcolm!" said Talas, antennas waving gently. "Now, I've rubbed your shoulders, massaged your calves, even cooked you a meal."

"Well, we won't mention that, love," said Malcolm. "You have many talents, but cooking is not one of them."

"I'm no chef!" said Talas, through gritted teeth, antennas stiff in her outrage. "You ordered me to cook you a meal!"

"And I paid the price for it, didn't I," said Malcolm with a snort, which brought some color, a deeper blue, to Talas' cheeks.

"Can we do something fun now, Malcolm?" said Talas, running her left hand over Malcolm's bare chest. "Maybe we can salvage what's left of this night."

"Nicely, Talas, don't pout. Be sweet," said Malcolm. "That's an order."

Talas sighed and said, "Fine. Will m'lord Malcolm deign to sport with this wretched wench tonight? Please, m'lord!"

"I knew nothing good would come of you reading Shakespeare," said Malcolm, gently caressing Talas' left antenna, as she gasped. "All right then, I've got some new tricks to show you."

Talas brightened at that. These Pinkskins were most imaginative in their pleasures, and she counted herself fortunate to be on the cutting edge of experimentation with Lt-Commander Reed.


	3. Chapter 3

**—Chapter 03—**

Two months later.

"Sir," said T'Pol from the Captain's Chair on the Ares, for she had hailed the Fleet Captain in his Ready Room, "we just dropped out of warp. We will assume orbit shortly."

"Andoria?"

"Unless you have changed our destination without my knowledge, sir," said T'Pol.

By StarFleet custom, if two or more captains were on board the same ship, the ship's captain retained the title, while the others were called sir: in any case, Trip was T'Pol's superior officer, so sir was appropriate on that score as well.

"Don't sass me, girl," said Trip softly enough for a Vulcan's ears, but the Andorian Comm officer heard his voice as well, and smiled: the working relationship of Fleet Captain Tucker and the Vulcan Captain of the Ares was atypical.

As Trip stepped on the Bridge, T'Pol just about slipped out of the Captain's Chair to take her station, then remembered that the Captain's Chair was her station now. Even a higher ranking officer would not sit in the Captain's Chair, while that ship's Captain was present, unless incapacitated.

The Ares's Tactical officer engaged the main video display, to give all a view of Andoria, an icy moon caught in the orbit of a beautifully ringed gas giant. They'd had to pass through a dozen Andorian patrols to get here, their identity verified not only by the Ares' transponder, but also by visual cues and verbal password checks. The Andorians took security seriously, with the Romulans still a threat.

The Comm officer requested permission from Ground Control to assume orbit around Andoria and it was shortly granted, along with an invitation that the Captain and his Vulcan mate should make their way to the Imperial Palace. Once there, they were shown to their rooms and then given the chance to refresh themselves, with a spa treatment. They declined.

"Very well," said their steward, "please let me know if I can be of service to you, Guardsman. His Highness will return to the palace tomorrow morning, but he asks that you enjoy his hospitality until then, Fleet Captain."

"Thank you," said Trip. "I understand that one of my shipmates, Lt-Commander Reed is staying here as well. Is he available?"

"He and Guardsman Talas are with his Highness, in Laikan. They've grown quite close. They will return with his Highness in the morning. Now, some food perhaps?"

—Hungry?, sent Trip to T'Pol through the Bond.

—No. Two, three hours?

"Could we hold off on that for a couple of hours?" said Trip.

"Certainly," said the Andorian. "You've been here before, so you must know that everything here is available around the clock. Let me know when you're ready, and I will see you taken care of properly, Guardsman."

After the man had left the room, T'Pol went to run a hot bath, while Trip poked around the well stocked liquor cabinet which came with the sumptuous room.

"I hope you'll join me for a bath," said T'Pol, poking her head into the room. "The tub is big enough for both of us. It is actually big enough for my entire Bridge crew, I think."

"Well, we're short the Bridge Crew, but we could squeeze some of the help in there, T'Pol. You could watch me diddle a chamber maid, while the maintenance man scrubs your back with a loufa."

The suggestion was ludicrous enough that T'Pol actually chuckled at it, then said, "Well? The bath?"

"What are you doing, T'Pol?"

"What do you mean, Captain?"

"Why are you just poking your head around the corner," said Trip with a smile, for he had his suspicions. "Come out from behind that wall, and ask me nicely."

"Very well," said T'Pol, and sure enough, she was nude, as he'd guessed: she assumed her at attention pose, and it was even better in the nude.

"Oh, yeah. You should walk around like that aboard the Ares, T'Pol. I believe it would improve crew morale. Let's make it a rule, Captain."

"Let's not, sir," said T'Pol. "I would catch my death of cold in short order. Now, will you join me?"

"Yes," said Trip, a bottle in his hand, as he walked towards T'Pol.

—What is that?

"I have no idea, T'Pol, but it smells great, and it's a bit thicker than normal liquor, which intrigues me."

"Why?"

—Because I'm going to baste you with it like a Thanksgiving turkey, sent Trip through the Bond.

"That seems like a waste of the Emperor's liquor, Trip."

"Not a drop will be wasted, my fine Vulcan Captain," said Trip, and sent a mental image to T'Pol, of her luscious breasts dripping with liquor, and him lapping it off her skin like a thirsty pup, causing T'Pol to blush.

—Oh my, sent T'Pol. You know, Captain, if you imbibed all your liquor like that, I wouldn't mind if you drank every night, even if I ended up an alcoholic by proxy.

* * *

"Trip!" said Malcolm, as Trip and T'Pol entered one of the smaller dining rooms. "Get over here, you bastard!"

Trip and Malcolm met in the middle of the room and gave each other a big hug, accompanied by some enthusiastic back slaps. This was the first time they'd seen each other since the start of their four month leave.

"Missed you, Malcolm," said Trip, pulling back to look Reed in the eye.

"Same here, Trip!"

Talas looked at the two men askance, then at T'Pol, and said, "I fear that we will each lose our man, Captain. Malcolm never gets that excited to see me."

Though T'Pol was privately amused by the spectacle, she said, "I was just thinking the same thing, Lieutenant."

"What are you two hens clucking about?" said Trip.

"Can't a man be glad to see a friend?" said Malcolm.

"Look at you, Malcolm," said Trip, looking at a well rested and well groomed Malcolm. "You're living the life of a pampered pooch!"

"You have that right," said Malcolm, smiling at Trip, then looking past him to Lieutenant Talas. "And I'm enjoying some other benefits as well, no Lieutenant Talas?"

Talas was just about to give Malcolm a tart reply, when Talrood entered the room, which ended things so far as Talas was concerned. Talrood walked up to Trip and they grasped forearms, in the manner of the Guards.

"I apologize for the wait," said Talrood, gesturing towards the table, "but I'll make up for it with a good brunch. It's good to see you and your mate again, Brother."

"Thank you," said Trip.

T'Pol said, "Likewise, Highness."

"Congratulations on your promotion, T'Pol," said Talrood. "You are without a doubt the loveliest captain aboard any of my cruisers."

T'Pol gave a slight bow to acknowledge the compliment and Lt-Commander Reed said, "Well deserved, Captain. I hope you've decided to retain me aboard the Ares. It would be an honor to serve under your command."

T'Pol nodded in a manner which Malcolm took as her agreement with his request.

"Will Elarann be joining us?" said Malcolm, turning to the Emperor.

"No," said Talrood, "so let's eat."

The food was served and for the next hour they ate, peppering their food with friendly conversation. When the plates were cleared and a last dish placed before them, Trip was taken aback its appearance, a deep purple block of some kind of cake, covered in marble sized black balls, and leaking a thick white sauce. Malcolm showed no such hesitation, and tucked into the dish with the gusto of a greedy pig digging for truffles.

"Malcolm?" said Trip.

"It's scrummy," said Malcolm.

"I don't know what that means, you British bastard! Should I put this shit in my mouth, or not?"

"Yes, yes, yes," said Malcolm.

Trip understood Malcolm's piggishness when he took a tentative bite, for an explosion of sweet fruit flavor saturated his taste buds, only to be cleansed and refreshed by the pleasantly bitter taste of the black balls, and then the bitterness soothed by the rich, sweet, cream sauce which reminded him of vanilla, coconuts and brandy.

Talrood smiled. Maybe a hundred chefs on all of Andoria could build this dish properly, and his was the best. Ten minutes later, the table was cleared, coffee, tea or wine was offered and then Talrood wordlessly passed a PADD to Trip.

Trip read through the particulars over the course of a minute, then said, "This is madness!"

"No, Brother," said Talrood, "this is your mission."

"I'm sure that everyone involved in this decision realizes what happens," said Trip, "if we screw this up, no?"

"It would be best not to do so," said Talrood, "but in any case, I don't believe we'll be any worse off, than doing nothing. So, to use your vernacular, we're throwing a Hail Mary."

"May I?" said T'Pol, reaching for the PADD.

"Don't bother reading it, T'Pol," said Trip, pulling back the PADD. "I'm sure that I'm being punked."

"Punked, Captain?" said T'Pol.

"Someone is playing a prank on me, kitten," said T'Pol, looking at both Malcolm and Talrood with a jaded eye. "I just don't know which of them is the mastermind behind this thing."

"I can see why you would think that," said Talrood, standing. "Come, let me show you."

* * *

"The Battle of Vulcan was really a treasure trove for us all," said Talrood, now seated in a conference room aboard the Andorian battlecruiser Slij-Te-Ka, the large wall monitor showing the ship's progress through space.

"I mean, here we had the best technology of the Romulans and the Xindi delivered to us personally in the form of hundreds of ships, blasted to pieces, sure, but many of them suffered damage which killed the crew, yet left some large enough parts of the ship intact," said Talrood. "I'm discounting the Orions and the Nausicaans here, for that criminal filth had nothing to teach us."

"While the Black Wind was off on its seven month pleasure cruise through the Romulan sector," said Talrood, "thousands of Vulcan, Andorian and Human workers were working round the clock, gathering in every bit of useful wreckage aboard large cargo ships, where the wreckage was evaluated and the juicy parts of their technology was transported back to Vulcan to be replicated, and then dispersed to the Humans and the Andorians. Sure, most of it was in pieces, but we found dozens of complete, if not working examples of almost anything we needed, or recovered enough pieces to put something together. We already had a Romulan cloaking device from that ship the Volares captured in its tractor beam when the Black Wind destroyed that Romulan shipyard with towed asteroids, but now we have new metal alloys, new weapon designs, new starship drives, and one more thing. Can you guess what it is?"

No one spoke up, so Talrood said, "In the wreckage of the Xindi ships, we found a new form of faster than light propulsion, a subspace vortex technology which allows the Xindi travel great distances, at much faster speed than even our best warp drives. That's why the Black Wind did not come across any Xindi on the way to the Romulan sector. The Xindi out sprinted you once they decided the fight was no longer in their interest, and a trip to the Delphic Expanse that would take us three months or so, was completed by the Xindi in a matter of hours."

"And we have that drive now?" said T'Pol.

"Yes, T'Pol. We are all producing them now, mostly for our first tier battlecruisers, but they'll eventually filter down to our second tier, the frigates, and perhaps even our third tier, the destroyers, eventually. There's even talk of producing full fledged battleships if this war goes on long enough, which will put our battlecruisers to shame."

"I'd love to be part of that,"said Trip, "from a professional standpoint. The engineering going into something like that would be challenging. But I'm sure the engineers told you that if you want battleships you'll have to start them now. It would take two to three years to build something like that."

"It's a shame you turned out to be such a good Fleet Captain," said Talrood with a smile, twisting the knife in Trip's back, "or you'd no doubt be one of StarFleet's technical representative on a project like that."

"Yeah," said Trip, depressed now.

"Cheer up, Guardsman," said Talrood, and commed the ship's Bridge.

"Yes, Highness?" said the captain of the Slij-Te-Ka.

"Engage the subspace vortex drive and take us to our destination," said Talrood, and motioned that Trip should turn his attention to the wall monitor, "and then let's give our guests an overview of the situation."

"Yes, Highness," said the captain, and a moment later, a subspace vortex opened up and the Slij-Te-Ka entered subspace in order to reach a far off destination.


	4. Chapter 4

**—Chapter 04—**

"What is this place?" said Trip to Talrood, as the Andorian battlecruiser exited the subspace vortex hours later into a stretch of space, empty save for a ship yard in the distance, growing rapidly in size as they drew closer.

"Just as good a question, sir," said T'Pol, "is where is this place?"

"The answer, T'Pol," said Talrood, "is that we're a long way away from Andoria. It would take the Romulans twelve weeks at warp 5 to get here, if they even knew of this location, and they do not."

"And so, Highness?" said T'Pol.

"And so," said Talrood, as the Slij-Te-Ka did a graceful 180 degree rolling maneuver to give them a view of the ship yard from the top down, the ship's artificial gravity keeping all on their feet and the world seemingly in its proper place despite that 180 degree turn, only to reveal a small fleet of Romulan ships.

"What the hell?" said Trip in a whisper. "We're repairing Romulan ships here? Ships damaged in the Battle of Vulcan, but still salvageable?"

"We're not repairing Romulan ships, Brother," said Talrood. "We're building Romulans ships here. Replicas really, but perfect replicas."

"This is a Ghost Fleet," said T'Pol.

"Yes, T'Pol," said Talrood. "Here we have a totally deniable fleet. We had a database of thousands of images and sensor scans taken of Romulan ships taken during the Battle of Vulcan, and then the materials themselves to analyze from the wreckage we hauled in, so that we could duplicate them accurately.

"We've duplicated the Romulan ships in their entirety, engines, weapons, cloaking devices, everything of note, plus we've added the Xindi subspace vortex drives, to allow these ships to seemingly disappear and appear in far off places, contrary to all the conventional predictions your opponents might make. Lastly, the Vulcans have rigged them with the same jamming wave generators which protect their capital ships from being scanned internally."

"Why install the jammers, Highness," said Malcom, "if the ships already have cloaking devices?"

"We can not predict the circumstances these ships will encounter, and they may not always remain cloaked, Malcolm. If the inside of these ships can not be scanned when the fleet is uncloaked," said Talrood, "the species of the crew can not be determined."

Malcolm nodded, understanding now. This was Malcolm's first time hearing of this fleet, but he was overcome with admiration, for the mind of the former Section 31 operative overflowed with devious possibilities for these ships.

"Could these ships fool the Romulans?" said Malcolm.

"No, of course not," said Talrood. "We don't have the proper transponder codes, we don't know the ship-to-ship communications protocol of the Romulans. Additionally, our grasp of their language is somewhat limited, taken from what we salvaged of their computer systems, so attempting to speak Romulan in order to fool them, would be unwise. So, no, we can not fool the Romulans."

"The Emperor is right, Malcolm," said Trip, an odd look on his face, "but we don't have to fool the Romulans. We just have to fool the Klingons."

Malcolm's background with Section 31 provided him with the answer in short order, as piece after piece fell in place, and he said in awe, "Jesus Christ, we're going to instigate a war between the Romulans and the Klingons, aren't we?"

T'Pol examined Lt-Commander Reed's logic in a split second and found it sound. She turned her head to look at Talrood.

The Emperor nodded solemnly, and said, "The Romulans are wooing the Klingons, in order to draw them into this conflict against the Federation. They're offering the Klingons Earth and Andoria as booty, while they intend to retain Vulcan and its colonies as the property of the Star Empire. The Klingons are all for it, they're just trying to get the best terms possible out of the Romulans, asking for a slice of the Romulan Empire, which borders their own, before formally agreeing. We can not allow that alliance to happen and it will be Fleet Captain Tucker's mission to prevent that alliance from coming about."

* * *

"This will be your flagship," said Talrood, as the shuttle, piloted by one of the Andorian engineers working here, stopped before a striking ship.

As all Romulan ships they'd encountered so far, it bore a resemblance to a bird of prey, though this one differed from the norm, seemingly more intimidating, larger, though still an agile looking ship. The olive green metal alloy composing the hull turned a seemingly translucent green now and then as the shuttle's bright lights played across the hull.

"We think this is an experimental design," said Talrood, "or perhaps a new model. Either way, we found about thirty of these ships mixed in with the regular Birds of Prey, and the noticeable upgrades in this model makes our engineers believe that this model was used by Wing Commanders of the Bird of Prey squadrons."

Trip allowed his eyes roam over the metal beast, and he admired the ship's lines, so different from anything the Federation members had ever produced. Though he considered Vulcan ships the most beautiful, and the Andorian the most aggressive and predatory looking, these Romulan ships came close to projecting the same lethal menace as the Andorian, while being even more attractive.

"We took out another ten or so of these ships ourselves, during the Romulan retreat, Highness" said T'Pol. "I remember one in particular, stayed behind to engage us, hoping to buy the rest of the ships some time."

"I remember that one, Captain," said Malcolm, looking at T'Pol. "That was a brave stand."

"This shipyard doesn't seem large enough," said Trip, "to produce all these ships."

Talrood smiled, and said, "Good eye, Captain. We're really just assembling prebuilt sections of these ships, delivered here by robotic transports. We just snap them together here, so to speak."

"I notice we did not recreate any WarBirds, Highness," said Trip, looking at Talrood.

"The WarBirds are too big to reproduce quickly, and their distinctiveness would be a security risk. We assume that the Romulans have spies and saboteurs in many places."

"Yeah, most likely," said Trip. "So, what's the length of the ship?"

Talrood looked at the engineer and the Andorian told Trip, "Two hundred meters, Guardsman."

That made it less than half the length of the five hundred eleven meter Ares, thought Trip.

"Crew?"

"Forty to fifty," said the engineer.

"Weapons?"

"Eight disruptor cannons, two launch bays for atomic missiles. About as effective as StarFleet's photon torpedoes, but they're not as compact, so they require more room on board. We built you two dozen such missiles, a full complement."

"Speed?"

"Top speed is warp 5 for two hours. Cruising speed is warp 4.6, but with the subspace vortex drives you will be able to leave any pursuers in the dust, without worrying about pushing your engines at top speed."

"How many ships in this fleet, Highness?" said Trip, turning to face Talrood.

"Forty-seven."

"And the crews?"

"On the way as we speak,"said Talrood. "All from the men of the Black Wind, all sworn to secrecy. They will be here later today."

* * *

"Latest status reports, sir," said T'Pol that night, handing Trip a stack of folders. "Our ships are reported ready for duty. Fully crewed, fully armed, along with some specially trained engineers to baby the subspace vortex drives."

"Ok," said Trip. "We've got a string of long days ahead of us. I know we've all worked together for more than a year now, but we still need to become completely acclimated to these ships."

"How much time do we have?" said T'Pol.

"No idea, T'Pol. We move when it's politically expedient. Until then, we train."

"What do we name our humble little fleet?" said T'Pol.

"How about the Green Machine?" said Trip.

"Really, sir?"

"You know, when you call me sir, it turns me on, Captain," said Trip, smiling at his mate. "Something about the way you pronounce it."

"Truly, sir? Sir, sir, sir, sir, sir…."

Trip laughed, and said, "Back to the question at hand. We can never talk about this mission, Captain, so it's not like we need to a memorable name for posterity. Why not?"

"Green Machine it is, sir."

"You don't seem particularly troubled by this mission, T'Pol," said Trip. "If this goes right, innocent Klingons and Romulans will die. I would have thought a Vulcan might find that fact troubling."

"Lots of things in this illogical universe trouble me, Trip," said T'Pol, "but I know that the Romulans will not stop their designs on Vulcan until they are humbled, or at the very least militarily weakened, and if they are negotiating with the Klingons for the purpose of securing their aid in attacking our sectors of space, well, logic dictates we do all we can to disrupt such an alliance, and prevent a much greater loss of life down the road."

"Ok. You know, we have to talk about something…"

"What is that?" said T'Pol, flipping through the stack of folders.

"There's some work that needs doing in this sector, while I'm gone," said Trip, "and I trust you more than any to make sure it gets done right."

T'Pol head whipped around and she fixed Trip with a steely gaze, then said, "Give that work to another. You are not leaving me behind. You would have to kill me first."

"Hey, hey," said Trip, "no one's killing anybody! Given what we've gone through together, I wouldn't leave you behind without a legitimate cause, T'Pol. This is a legitimate cause. Admiral Tsoi trained me, but you were there every step of the way, and you know everything I know."

"And so," said T'Pol coldly.

"And so, the Black Wind's ships have been undergoing maintenance and upgrade refits the last four months while we were vacationing, and the Ares is having a subspace vortex drive installed even as we speak," said Trip. "The Black Wind needs a leader while I'm gone, T'Pol, and with new people coming on board to replace the ones I'm taking with me, your organizational skills would be a great benefit in getting the Black Wind up to speed once again. If I screw up this mission, we're going to need the Black Wind, T'Pol, and Talrood has already agreed to see you appointed Fleet Captain in my absence."

"I do not care what the Emperor has agreed to do. There are plenty of Federation captains more than eager to command the Black Wind. That fleet is not my concern," said T'Pol. "My mate is my concern."

"Think, T'Pol. You're an excellent officer and the Black Wind trusts you. You are the logical choice and you deserve the recognition in your own right."

T'Pol stood and looked Trip directly in the eyes, to make certain that her words would not be misconstrued, and said, "I do not wish to discuss this topic any longer, Captain. I am going with you."

"All right," said Trip, "but the Black Wind will suffer without your attention."

"Then it will suffer, sir."

Trip nodded, and said, "You can be most difficult at times, my dear T'Pol."

T'Pol sniffed, raised brow and gave Trip a cool look, seemingly unconcerned by the fact which her mate had brought to her attention.

"How long to finish our little project?" said Trip.

The little project Trip was speaking of, was building an exact replica of the Romulan Bridge in one of the Cargo Bays of his flagship, which he'd named Black Wing, for he'd had a wide black stripe painted atop the left wing.

"Two days, I am told," said T'Pol, mollified now. "We are getting an actual bridge shipped here in sections, scaled to fit Cargo Bay B precisely. It will seem completely authentic, because it will be authentic."

"And the Vulcan actors I requested?"

"A dozen classically trained Vulcan actors, will be here in thirty-six hours and Dr. Itak assures me that he can easily do the procedure you ask of him in a matter of hours. You are a clever bastard, sir," said T'Pol, with an appraising look.

"How do you think I snared you?" said Trip, with a leer for T'Pol. "You never stood a chance, my little Vulcan, once I decided to put my brand on you. Do you know that?"

"I do now," said T'Pol. "And when did you decide to put your brand on me?"

"The first time I set eyes on you, T'Pol."

"In that case I should have let you do your dirty business atop of me that day, and avoided all those days and nights of useless resistance, no?"

"Yes, that would have been the logical course of action, T'Pol, " said Trip, with a smile. "Anyway, have the Doctor perform the procedures at his earliest convenience. I assume the actors will have no problems with my request?"

"None at all, sir," said T'Pol. "They know you act to preserve Vulcan. They will follow your lead."

Trip nodded, and said, "Good. You've made the arrangements I've asked for with the Emperor?"

"Yes," said T'Pol. "The ships you have asked for will be ready, with the recently promoted Fleet Captain Thy'lek Shran at their head."

"Shran? Excellent," said Trip. "Talrood kept his promise. Shran deserved promotion, and he thinks well on his feet. That will come in handy if we need to improvise."

"You know, if we succeed at this mission," said T'Pol, "I think that will spell the end of your hopes to return to your beloved engine room, forever."

"I've made my peace with it, T'Pol. I can still tinker around with the engines of whatever ship I'm posted on, and when we settle down somewhere, I'll build a workshop to amuse myself."

"You think about us settling down, Trip?" said T'Pol, amused at the thought of Trip happily tinkering around in a little workshop after working on engines powerful enough to drive a starship.

"Sure, don't you? I've had Dr. Phlox reviewing the research of his duplicate from the time trapped Enterprise. Sooner or later we're going to get bored of doing this, and decide to procreate in a most logical manner, no? Have a bushel full of kids."

"What's a bushel, Trip?"

"I think it's a large wicker basket we could fill with kids one day. No?"

"Yes," said T'Pol, inwardly pleased at the direction of her mate's thoughts.

* * *

"What the hell is this rubbish?" said Malcolm, tossing his orders on Trip's desk. "Says I'm to remain at the palace, pending further orders. Your ship needs a Tactical Officer!"

"Easy, Malcolm. Maybe it's a mistake," said Trip, reading Malcolm's orders.

"It's fucking bullshit, Trip!"

"Well, wait, Malcolm. You're assigned to take command of the Ares three days from now, once it's refits are completed, until T'Pol gets back. You are to also take command of the Black Wind in my absence, so you can drill the hell out of the fleet. This makes sense. You've got combat experience in spades from our time in the Romulan sector. This is good for you, Malcolm, professionally speaking."

"Spare me, eh?" said Malcolm.

"Did you read all the way to the bottom?" said Trip, smiling. "You've made Commander you British muppet! At this rate you'll make Admiral by the end of next week!"

"I know," said Malcolm. "It's great, but I still wish I was going with you."

"You're all going to a state of readiness as soon as the Green Machine leaves for its mission, Malcolm. Just make sure the Black Wind is ready for battle, should we need it. If you have to take the Fleet into combat yourself, I know you'll do well."

"It will be ready," said Malcolm, "as for the other, I doubt it."

"I don't," said Trip.

* * *

The call came thirty-three days later, and the Green Machine left for their appointment with destiny.

"They're off, Malcolm," said Talrood, looking at the newly frocked Commander as he handed the human a drink.

Both men had discussed the proper timing for the Green Machine to act in order to have the greatest effect, and the time had come.

"Have you ever heard of Section 31, Malcolm?" said Talrood.

"Yes, Highness."

"Do you judge their intelligence gathering to be of high quality?"said Talrood, after taking a sip of Andorian Ale.

"Yes, Highness."

"Well, Section 31 reports that the Romulans and the Klingons are butting heads now, over the Klingon demand for a slice of Romulan space on the Klingon/Romulan border. Section 31 feels that a match struck now would light a fire that would consume the Romulan's attention, and weaken them to boot."

"Makes sense," said Malcolm.

"The Vulcans I've spoken to feel the same," said Talrood. "They say Section 31 has never been wrong. They're also somewhat frustrated, for they're unable to get any information on that intelligence service, other than the name, and I've been told they've tried everything. I had no idea you Humans could be so efficient. That augurs well for our future relationship with your species."

"Well, my heart bleeds for the Vulcans, Highness," said Malcolm. "There's nothing crueler to them, then a puzzle they can not solve."

Talrood smiled at that, lifted his glass, and said, "To the Green Machine!"

"Godspeed," said Malcolm, clicking glasses with Talrood.


	5. Chapter 5

**—Chapter 05—**

The Xindi subspace vortex drive was a thing of wonder to an engineer, thought Trip, as the forty-seven ships of the Green Machine moved through subspace at a speed which had seemed unimaginable to him not long ago. It had taken eleven hours for the Green Machine to make its way from the far distant location of the Talrood's secret shipyard to familiar space, for both Vulcan and Andoria were now located far to their north. Vulcans regularly patrolled this region although it was not technically Vulcan space, and Andorians often cruised this region, for they hunted Orion and Nausicaan ships here, for sport, to train new Imperial Guards, and most importantly, to cleanse space of that criminal filth.

"T'Pol?" said Trip, seated in the Captain's Chair of the Romulan replica, Black Wing.

"It is safe to proceed, sir," said T'Pol.

She'd been monitoring the readouts from a Vulcan battlecruiser and three Vulcan frigates within sensor range. At the prearranged time, all four ships had turned off their sensor nets, in obedience to orders from on high, much to the confusion of the ship's captains, and their crews. Although the odds of these ships detecting the Green Machine were quite small to begin with, given their relative speeds to the Green Machine, no chances were taken, and by the time these ships received permission to activate their sensors once again, the Green Machine had long since passed by.

The Green Machine passed Epsilon Sculptoris, and in time passed Lorillia, then passed Celes, passed Acamar, and then, shortly after passing Carraya, the Green Machine slipped into the Romulan Star Empire with the stealth of an assassin. Much of this territory had been unknown to humans, until the Black Wind Fleet had pursued the Romulan remnants retreating home in defeat after the Battle of Vulcan. Now the Federation had an extensive map of the Star Empire, after the seven months of sensor telemetry collected by the Black Wind, so it was no trouble at all for the Green Machine to find a proper place to lay up, in the form of a yellow gas giant, which Trip had used to conceal the Black Wind Fleet on his previous foray into the Star Empire. So, the Green Machine sank into the top layer of the gas giant and the ships went dark and largely quiet, as the majority of the crews waited for the command to begin the campaign. The engineers of a dozen ships though, walked the hulls of their ships with the aid of their magnetized boots, fastening soft bags, shaped much like large bean bags and painted to match the color of the ship's hull, all over the hulls of their respective ships.

* * *

The Duratt'Mor, a Klingon D4 battlecruiser, had passed Narendra, on the Northern Romulan/Klingon border days ago, headed for Khitomer, which lay on the Eastern Border of the Klingon Empire. The Duratt'Mor was flanked by five smaller Klingon Birds of Prey, for a small, but effective battle squadron, for the Eastern Border region was much less stable than the Northern Border. The Orions clustered on the Eastern Border, and although they were too cowardly to attack the Klingon Empire, they thought nothing of swamping a lone ship, now and then, in search of profit and patrol groups such as this helped keep acts of piracy to a minimum in the Klingon Empire.

If the High Council ever takes the leash off us, thought Kullor T'Lak of House Sardas, the Commander of this patrol group, we'll wipe that filth out in a month. Even as he thought it, he admitted that such permission from the High Council would never come, for the Orions performed a desirable function for the Klingon Empire, by bringing exotic foods, exotic slaves, knowledge and new technology from far off sectors to the very doorstep of the Klingon Empire, not to mention the generous payoffs the Orions made to members of the High Council, and notable Noble Houses in the Empire, all for the privilege of being left largely to their own devices.

I suppose even the Orions have their uses, thought Kullor, for he fully intended to spend a week in an Orion brothel immediately upon reaching the Eastern Border. He had developed quite an appetite for Andorian females lately. They had every bit the quick temper and passionate nature of Klingon females, while being much more sensual, much more feminine, as Kullor saw things.

It was while he was occupied with such pleasant anticipatory thoughts that Kullor got the biggest surprise of his life, and the last, for a rip in subspace vomited out a dozen Romulan ships, all firing, even as they closed upon the Klingon squadron. The Duratt'Mor's Bridge, was located in a round ball, at the end of a long neck, and this ball, and the Duratt'Mor's Bridge was blown apart in the first few seconds of the encounter, along with two of the Klingon Birds of Prey. The surprise factor had already decided the battle, for though the Duratt'Mor had a secondary Bridge in the main body of the ship, the crew was greatly handicapped by the loss of it's most experienced officers. Still, the crew of the Duratt'Mor did their best to bring their ship into the battle.

The remaining three Birds of Prey scrambled to stay alive, but one lost that scramble soon after, to one of it's three pursuers. The other two Klingon ships opened fire, though hopelessly outnumbered now, with six to one odds against them, but they were Klingon warriors and they had no intention to retreat, in order to save their lives. Another Bird of Prey was torn apart by the combined fire of five Romulan ships, while the last Bird flew next to the Duratt'Mor. They would make their last stand together, as Klingon warriors, fighting a glorious battle against overwhelming odds!

* * *

"Go," said Trip, looking at the Comm officer, and that Vulcan channeled the audio/video feed through the false Bridge built into the Cargo Bay.

The Vulcan actors, surgically modified by the Black Wing's Doctor to display the brow ridges typical of the Romulans, began the most important performance of their lives. Recently drilled in military protocol and formed by a lifetime of training to project a desired image, they hailed the Klingon ships, their words translated by the computer into Klingon.

"Prepare to surrender your ships, Klingons, in the name of the Star Empire," said Te'len, faux Romulan Commander.

The senior officer among the Klingons now was Kroth of House Kurrozh, serving aboard the Duratt'Mor.

"If ever you had a chance to secure an alliance with us, you Romulan dogs," said Kroth, "you've just pissed it away! We've already reported your treacherous attack, you cowardly Ha'DibaH! "

"We will lead your High Council by the nose, Klingon, never fear," said Te'len. "We have dozens of ships in subspace, jamming your transmissions and your people will find the wreckage of some Human ships mixed with that of your ships, wreckage which we've carried in our Cargo holds for just such an occasion. More than enough physical evidence to convince your High Council to sign a pact with us. Now, surrender. Give us some useful intelligence, and you get to live. The Star Empire is vast, and you can make a new home there, for I know you can never return home once you surrender."

"Klingons to do not surrender, baQa'!" said a rage filled Kroth. "Let's get on with it, you pathet—"

Kroth's challenge was interrupted as the Romulan's image froze and then vanished abruptly. Kroth turned to the crewman operating the Comm equipment.

"Kroth," said one the Klingons, snapping his fingers and pointing back to the monitor, where a most curious sight greeted Kroth.

A wing of Andorian battlecruisers, twenty strong, swooped upon the Romulans, their particle cannons tearing up the enemy by the look of it, for the Romulan hulls were exploding with impressive violence where they took fire. Within seconds, the Romulans turned tail, and disappeared, at warp speed. Eleven of the Andorian battlecruisers took off after the Romulans at warp speed, while the rest turned their attention to the lone Bird of Prey and the wreck of the Duratt'Mor. They split in groups of three, and took stations in a triangular pattern around the Klingons.

"Hail them," said Kroth.

A moment later the monitor displayed the image of an Andorian. Though Kroth was not trained to read the rank insignias of the Andorians, he knew this must be the commander of this Andorian battle group.

"Thy'lek Shran," said the Andorian. "Fleet Captain."

"What are you doing in Klingon space, Thy'lek Shran?" said Kroth.

"Have the manners to introduce yourself to me, you motherless cur," said Shran, "or I'll finish what the Romulans started."

"Kroth of House Kurrozh," said the Klingon, barely restraining his temper, for given what he'd heard of Andorians, this Shran was quite likely to carry out his threat, and his duty to the Empire required that he remain alive long enough to warn the Klingon High Council of the Romulan treachery. "Now, what are you doing in Klingon space, Andorian?"

"We were pursuing that Romulan squadron, Kroth," said Shran. "We whipped them mercilessly not long ago, at Vulcan, but they came back for more, sniffing around Andoria, so I killed a dozen of their ships in the last ten days, and now I want the rest of them."

Kroth nodded appreciatively, glad to hear those words. Though he'd never met an Andorian before, he liked the man's forthright demeanor, whereas he had always mistrusted the typical Romulan, for he had some acquaintance with them, given their proximity to the Klingon Empire.

"What now, Andorian?" said Kroth.

"Do you need assistance, or can you contact your people to help you?" said Shran.

"We just did," said Kroth, for he'd heard his Comm officer speaking frantically to Command, in the background. "They're on the way."

"How long?" said Shran.

"We're close to Khitomer," said Kroth. "Twelve hours or so."

"You will survive until then?" said Shran.

"Yes."

"In that case, I'll resume my chase," said Shran. "I mean to kill those bastards before they get too deep inside Romulan territory."

"Good hunting, Andorian," said Kroth, truly wishing the Andorian well. "Qapla!"

Kroth's farewell word, qapla, which could be translated as Victory! or Success!, was echoed by the rest of the Klingons in a passionate wish that the Andorians should succeed in their hunt.

The Andorian smiled, and said, "Qapla!"

* * *

The rest of the Andorian Fleet had engaged their Xindi drives and crossed the Eastern Border in short order, leaving the Klingon Empire, but the Kumari headed to the coordinates they'd picked up in a short burst encrypted transmission from the Black Wing. Shortly after arriving at the proper location, the Andorian ship was joined by the Black Wing.

"That was well done, you magnificent blue bastard," said Trip, playing host to Shran in the Captain's Mess aboard the Black Wing.

"I thought so too," said Shran, refilling his glass and Trip's with some Andorian Ale, for the seventh time in the past half hour. "That was an impressive light show you put on. I trust you took no serious damage?"

The Andorian particle cannons had been tweaked to emit just a fraction of their power, just enough to set off the detonators of the low-yield charges which the engineers had pasted on the ship's exteriors in those flat bags.

"Glad you liked the show," said Trip, taking shot with Shran. "No, we didn't take any damage."

"Where's the rest of your fleet?" said Shran.

"Hopped up North, with Te'Mers in command" said Trip, naming the Vulcan member of the Black Wind, captain of the Vorlana in normal circumstances, but on this mission commanding the Night Shade. "They're taking out a number of automated sentry stations along the Romulan/Klingon border. It will seem as if the Romulans are planning an invasion of Klingon space. And the manner in which the Green Machine hops around will give the Klingons the impression that there are a number of Romulan battle groups already operating inside Klingon space. Now that we've started, we're going round the clock, 24/7, either attacking, or on route to our next attack."

"Good, good," said Shran, then reached into his jacket pocket. "Before I forget, here are some dispatches for you. Latest intelligence packet."

Trip took the PADD from Shran, then poured another shot for them both, and with a nod they pounded the shots, just as T'Pol entered the room.

"Enough, Captain Tucker," said T'Pol. "No more ale for you tonight."

Trip smiled. When he drank it affected T'Pol as well, due to the Bond.

"Oh, oh, Shran," said Trip. "I'm in trouble now. When T'Pol gets drunk by proxy, she starts cursing me for Bonding her, and she's got quite the potty mouth."

"You know very well that is not true, Captain Tucker, " said T'Pol, raising hand to temple: the room was spinning slightly.

"She'll probably beat me tonight, Shran," said Trip. "Save me from this Vulcan she-wolf, Brother!"

Shran laughed and refilled his shot glass, then looked at Trip, a smile on his face, a challenge in his eyes. Trip shook his head. If T'Pol had been moved to complain, it was affecting her at least moderately. Shran downed the shot and stood.

"I can do nothing for you, Brother," said Shran. "When you chose to mate a Vulcan you sealed your own fate. Now, I need to scoot across the Eastern Border before the Klingons make it out here in numbers great enough to matter."

In truth, they'd both used their Xindi drives to put a great deal of distance between them and their encounter point with the Klingons, who wouldn't have patrols this way for a week or more. But Shran was right, they couldn't risk being seen together on amicable terms, so Trip stood, gripped Shran's forearm in the informal Guard's salute.

"See you on the other side," said Trip.

"Other side?"said Shran.

"Yeah, other side of the Eastern Border, Shran. When this is all over."

"Ah,"said Shran. "I thought you meant the other side of the Veil. I'm not ready to leave this world just yet."

"Neither am I, Brother," said Trip.

Once Shran had left the Black Wing, Trip ordered the Helmsman to rendezvous with the rest of the Green Machine.

"We have a four or five hours to kill," said Trip, taking a seat on the couch. "Would you like some food?"

"No," said T'Pol.

She came to Trip and climbed onto his lap, slowly, like an intoxicated kitten. She rested her head on his shoulder and began nibbling his ear lobe, in between whispering sweet nothings, as Trip's hands ran across his mate's body.

"You are becoming emotional, T'Pol," said Trip with a smile.

"And this distresses you, Trip?" said T'Pol, cupping his face in her hands, pulling back to look Trip in the eyes.

"It does, T'Pol," said Trip, pulling her close for a kiss: one had to start somewhere, and they had hours to kill, after all, "but I'm going to soldier on through my distress."

* * *

S'Hauen, the Senator chosen to act as the Romulan Ambassador to the Klingon Empire in the bid to bring them into the war against the Federation, was called to the chambers of the High Council, in order to attend a meeting with the Chancellor. S'Hauen came flanked by his daughter, Dhael, who served as his personal assistant, as well as by two Romulan Centurions, serving as an honor guard. The Klingons parted before them as they entered the Great Hall, but at the entrance to the High Council, one of the Klingons stepped forward and spoke to S'Hauen.

"You and your men are to go in, Ambassador," said the Klingon, "but the female remains here."

"She is my assistant," said S'Hauen. "I will need her in the negotiations."

The Klingon gave the ambassador a nasty smile, and said, "She remains here."

Dhael looked at her father, and the ambassador gestured that she should do as instructed. A moment later, the Romulans males entered the High Council chambers, to be greeted with a roar. These Klingons are nothing but animals, thought Dhael, resenting this entire trip, but most especially the living, creepy, crawly food she'd been offered so far. The Klingon voices rose to another roar, and then another, and another, for the next half hour or so.

What the hell are they doing in there, thought Dhael. She longed once more to be rid of this place and return home, and seemingly, as if in answer to her wishes, the door opened. Dhael gasped. A large Klingon, breastplate covered in a spray of green Romulan blood approached Dhael, in his left hand a spear. On the shaft of that spear, three Romulan heads were impaled, her father's head atop the others. Dhael was almost overcome with grief, and with rage. Given a Romulan's strength advantage, in addition to her exhaustive combat training which was seen fitting a Senator's daughter, Dhael was tempted to kill the Klingon spear carrier, but the discipline her father had ground into her prevailed. These deaths would be avenged, and avenged cruelly, of that she had no doubt.

The Klingon handed Dhael the spear, and said, "Tell your people that these men died well. Four Klingons died at their hands, three at the hands of the topmost centurion, one at the hands of the other."

"Why?" said Dhael, her voice venomous, her rage just barely restrained.

The Klingon looked at Dhael for a time, then said, "You've been isolated here, Romulan, but your people know our cause. Understand, this means war!"

"Oh, yes, it does," said Dhael. "Rest assured of that, Klingon."


	6. Chapter 6

**—Chapter 06—**

A fire raged all along the Romulan/Klingon border now, and far beyond those borders, as well. Humans and Vulcans would normally take many months or years to be truly geared for war, since their economies and their factories were geared for trade, but the Klingons were always on a war footing, so only weeks after the start of the treacherous Romulan attacks, attacks which had never stopped since that first day, two thousand and fifty-seven Klingon ships poured across the border to make a push deep into the Romulan Star Empire.

Standing against those Klingon numbers were some twelve hundred Romulan ships, but it wasn't as lopsided a contest as one would think, for the Klingons were attacking prepared positions, in which the losses of the attacker could often reach two, or three times the losses of the defender, even in victory, and soon after that, the initial Klingon press ground to a halt, and the fighting degraded to vicious skirmishes between squadrons of ships. Victory seemed distant from either side.

The Klingons were doing their best to wear down the Romulan military capacity to fight, yet seemed unable to stop Romulan attacks deep within the Klingon Empire, for here, a vital ship yard at Qu'Vat was totally destroyed, and only hours later, the vast automated mines at B'Moth which provided precious strategic metals and fuels for the Klingon war effort were destroyed with atomics, followed only days later by the atomic bombardment of the weapons storage sites on Ty'Gokor, and so on, and so on, day after day, after depressing day. The distances between each attack were vast, making it plain that a number of Romulan fleets were loose inside the Klingon Empire, and this stupid war was turning out to be a bloody mistake for both sides…

* * *

Talrood poured a drink for himself, and one for Malcolm. This was the first time that Commander Reed had returned to the palace since the Green Machine had began it's mission, for he had been working with, and drilling the Black Wind Fleet in preparation for the possibility of war.

"How's the training coming along?" said Talrood, handing Malcolm his drink, and looking at the man.

The Black Wind, along with every other Federation fleet was training almost nonstop, in preparation for combat, if the Green Machine should drop the ball, and the Romulans and Klingons turn against the Federation.

"Well enough, Highness," said Malcolm, as the acting Fleet Captain of the Black Wind, until Trip should return. "The Black Wind veterans are bringing the new members up to speed quickly, but there's still a learning curve."

"Push them hard," said Talrood. "The Green Machine is likely to suffer losses on this mission, and we'll need these new crewman to fully man the Black Wind."

Malcolm nodded, said, "Yes, Highness."

"Any news of the Green Machine from Section 31?" said Talrood.

Malcolm was suddenly wary, and said, "Why ask me, Highness?"

Talrood fixed his gaze on Malcolm, smiled coldly, and said, "Don't mistake me for a fool, Malcolm."

Malcolm knew that if he lied to the Emperor now, the trust established between them would vanish. The Andorians were great believers in authenticity. They took you as you were and judged you on your merits and your actions, but pretend to be something you were not, or attempt to deceive them, and they washed their hands of you. He respected Talrood greatly, as a man, a leader, and as a warrior, but more than that, Malcolm realized that the future of humanity was tied with Andoria and Vulcan now. It had become clear that the universe could be a dangerous place, when one faced it alone, and only ties of trust, honor and loyalty would bind them together.

"I'm no longer officially associated with them, Talrood," said Malcolm.

By using the Emperor's name, Malcolm pledged his personal honor for the truth of his words, in the Andorian manner, for he was speaking man to man, not hiding behind ranks and titles, under which it was conceivable that he might deceive or mislead the Emperor, on orders from StarFleet command.

"I have performed two missions for them, since I left," said Malcolm, "when the missions were something of which I approved, but I don't take orders from them any longer."

Talrood nodded, pleased that Malcolm had passed his test.

"So, can you reach out to them, see if they've received any news of the Green Machine?" said Talrood.

"I can, Highness, but believe me, they will share any meaningful information with the members of the Federation as soon as possible," said Malcolm. "It will officially come from StarFleet, but StarFleet has no intelligence assets in those sectors, so you can be certain the data comes from Section 31. For what it's worth, every bit of information we've gotten so far from that region speaks of a nasty war between the Romulans and the Klingons."

"I read the same reports," said Talrood. "I was just hoping for more current news though, but I suppose we're dealing with the fog of war here.

"The Green Machine still lives, Highness, never fear."

"Doubtless, they live, Malcolm," said Talrood. "Fleet Captain Tucker is doing what he does best, leading the Green Machine on enemy ground, attacking both sides, stoking the fires between the Romulans and the Klingons."

"Yes," said Malcolm, thinking back to the Black Wind's time in the Romulan sector: Trip was very good, indeed.

"On another topic," said Talrood, "the Tellarites are making a bid to be accepted into the Federation and the Denobulans are considering doing the same."

"Good," said Malcolm, meaning it, his mind still with the Green Machine.

* * *

It was in the Dolium system, on the Western Border, just barely outside the borders of both the Romulan and Klingon Empires, that Tannang, a Klingon of House Ruktah came at the bidding of a Romulan, named Vrih. He and Vrih were colleagues of a sort, both involved in the intelligence apparatus of their respective empires, and they'd known each other long enough that a level of respect for the other existed, a level of trust that made this meeting between them possible.

Vrih had sent a message to Tannang, through a neutral third party, and the message simply gave a date, a time, and a set of coordinates, along with a cryptic phrase they'd both long ago agreed upon as a method of authentication, so Tannang came here, in a Bird of Prey to await the coming of Vrih. The crew of his ship was used to performing unusual missions on behalf of the intelligence services, so the fact that they were here to meet a Romulan ship while a war raged between their empires did not faze them in the least. And so Tannang waited, for his Romulan counterpart. When Vrih showed up, in an armed Romulan diplomatic shuttle, Tannang was relieved. He had begun to suspect this whole thing was a trap.

"We're being hailed by the Romulans, Tannang," said Ketron, the Comm officer.

Tannang nodded, and Ketron put the Romulan up on the video display.

"Tannang," said Vrih, "I'm glad you could make it."

Tannang nodded, and said, "Your ship, or mine?"

"Yours. I'll come alone," said Vrih, and closed his connection.

Tannang's men met Vrih at the Access Hatch and brought the Romulan to a conference chamber, where Tannang poured both men a glass of Romulan ale, to smooth their interaction.

"So," said Tannang. "What can I do for you, Vrih?"

"You can tell me what the fuck your High Council is thinking, Tannang," said Vrih. "Have they gone mad? Had our empires struck a bargain, and made our move together, both our respective empires would have been greatly enriched by now."

Tannang simply looked at Vrih. The man was too plugged in, to aware of everything to be in the dark of such matters. That meant he was playing some kind of game. This playful nature with a cruel streak, was one of the Romulan's least attractive traits, as Tannang saw it.

He sighed, and said, "I hope you did not bring me all the way out here to waste my time with stupid games, Vrih."

"What games?" said Vrih. "Tell me why your people did this, Tannang!"

"I will assume that you have suffered a blow to the head, Vrih, and I will humor you for now, but know that my patience is limited."

Anticipating that Vrih would want to discuss the incidents which led to war, before any negotiations could begin, Tannang had brought along the audio/video logs of the incidents which had sparked this war, and displayed them on the monitor. The destruction of the automated sentry stations along the Romulan/Klingon border by a fleet of Romulan ships, the attack on a number of troop carriers two days later, the attack on a two dozen small to mid-sized ship yards all along the border, the destruction of two listening stations monitoring the border, and last but not least, the first attack which almost destroyed the Duratt'Mor battlecruiser and had destroyed four out of five Birds of Prey. Tannang watched Vrih's face, as the Romulan studied the show on the video display. The Romulan's face betrayed confusion, which meant that he was a hell of an actor, as far as Tannang was concerned.

"I trust this answers your questions, Vrih. Now, why have you called me here?"

"This doesn't make any sense, Tannang!" said Vrih. "We had no reason to attack you."

"And yet, every attack was conducted by Romulan ships," said Tannang, skeptical. "Unless you mean to tell me that those attackers are Suliban, or perhaps Nausicaan."

"I mean to tell you that none of this makes sense," said Vrih. "For one, how is it that these Romulan ships attacked Klingons, yet always, they left survivors, they left proof of their attacks. You know my people, Tannang. We do not leave survivors."

"There were a dozen other attacks within the first three days, of which we found nothing but debris, but maybe your people didn't give a damn to cover them all up," said Tannang. "Maybe this was a stupid attempt to intimidate us into signing onto your offer of alliance. Who knows what the idiots in charge of your government thought as they began this madness."

"No, Tannang," said Vrih. "I swear, we did not do this! It was not us."

"And yet those ships are Romulan ships," said Tannang.

"They appear to be Romulan, Tannang," said Vrih, "but you know me. My government could not have planned these actions, without my hearing of it."

"Then perhaps one of your Admirals lost his mind, Vrih. How do I know?" said Tannang. "What I do know, is that your people started this whole thing, and we mean to finish it."

Vrih said nothing at all, though it was clear his mind was racing, and Tannang finally said, "What are you thinking?"

"I'm bothered that those Andorians showed up just in time to rescue two of your ships… They're a long way from home."

"They claimed to have destroyed some of your ships in their sector, and were following the rest of your ships, to destroy them before they entered too deeply back into Romulan space," said Tannang.

"We have ships watching the Humans, Vulcans and Andorians, Tannang, that's true enough," said Vrih. "But they would remain cloaked. They would not draw attention to themselves, they would not engage in combat, they're there simply to gather intelligence. Transfer those logs to my ship, Tannang, so that my crew may transmit that data back to my government," said Vrih. "I want to hear what they have to say about all this."

Tannang did so, and then Vrih ordered that those files be sent back to the Empire, along with a Priority One request for a response as to their authenticity.

"I still don't believe it," said Vrih, "but just on the off chance I was cut out of this decision, I requested an urgent response."

Tannang nodded, and said, "I don't see what difference it would make. I doubt anything your government could say would stop our attacks without some impeccable evidence. Anything else would be ridiculed as a Romulan attempt at manipulation."

"Tannang, someone is playing us both for fools," said Vrih, "and I suspect the Federation is behind it all."

"If you say so," said Tannang, "but as I've said it woul—"

"Commander," said Ketron from the Bridge. "We've got company. They just decloaked off our port side."

Tannang pressed a button, and the monitor in the conference room now shared the data feed of the Bridge display. It showed a half dozen Romulan ships.

"What's this, Vrih?" said Tannang.

"I have no idea," said Vrih. "Hail them, in my name."

Tannang ordered it so, but Ketro said, "They're jamming our transmissions!"

Before Tannang could respond, a salvo of disruptor fire destroyed Vrih's shuttle, despite it's Romulan design, or the Romulan transponder broadcasting its Romulan identity. An instant later, Tannang's ship was struck as well.

"Engines are down, Commander! Weapons are down," said Ketron.

With engines down, shields would be down as well, thought Tannang. He looked at Vrih, and the Romulan looked back at him. An understanding passed between them.

"So it seems that you were right," said Tannang, and Vrih nodded ruefully, before the 'Romulan' ships opened fire, and reduced the Bird of Prey to a field of debris.


	7. Chapter 7

**—Chapter 07—**

In lieu of a full meeting of the Imperial Senate, Praetor Solos, the most powerful man in the Romulan Empire, called a meeting of the executive Continuing Committee. He did so in order that the committee might confer with M'han, Chairman of the Tal Shiar, the Romulan Intelligence Service on some rather startling information, which carried with it some troubling implications.

M'han did not waste any time. He gave a brief description of Vrih's meeting with the Klingon Tannang, and then played the video of the Romulan fleet attacks on Klingon assets, in Klingon space, which Vrih had been gotten from Tannang. This then, was the reason for the breakdown of negotiations with the Klingons, this then was the reason for the ongoing war between the Star Empire and the Klingons. A period of stunned silence was broken when Hanaj spoke up.

"Who is it?" said Hanaj. "Who is responsible for this stupidity?"

There was no need to voice the fact that the parties responsible for this outrage would be executed, along with their immediate family of every generation. It was a given.

"That's just it," said M'han. "Vrih does not believe that these were Romulan ships. I checked into the matter myself before this meeting, and I agree with him. All our ships were accounted for, when these attacks along the border occurred."

"Let him stand forth," said Lihran. "Let Vrih speak for himself."

"That will be impossible," said M'han. "After we received his transmission, we tried to contact him again. When he did not respond, we dispatched scouts to his last known location. All they found at the site was debris."

Subterfuge was second nature to a Romulan, and the men attending this conference were the most devious and the most ruthless, of all the Romulans. It did not take them much time at all to reason out who stood to benefit if the Klingons and Romulans should war against the other. The Federation. And gallingly, they'd pulled it off, for nothing the Romulans did or said could sway the Klingons from their course, unless…

"Vaebn," said the Praetor, speaking to the Grand Admiral of the Southern Border, "we must capture at least one of these ships, in order that we may parade the crew before the Klingons."

"Yes, Praetor," said Vaebn.

"Telas," said the Praetor, "you will speak with the Klingons. Tell them our conclusions and ask them for a truce. Propose that we both hunt these chameleons down, in joint squadrons. It will probably not work, but it's worth trying."

"Yes, Praetor."

Solos thought on the Andorians. They were not a well known quantity, for they'd only recently come to his attention by their involvement in the Federation, but the Orions knew them well enough, and feared them more than the Klingons, which was an impressive feat in itself. When pressed for the reason why, the Orions would only say that the Andorians were quick tempered, violent, completely without pity, and utterly uninterested in coming to terms with the Orions in return for a financial windfall. Solos considered all those qualities admirable, but not when they interfered with his plans. So...

"The Andorians certainly played their part in stirring the pot, M'han," said Praetor Solos, thinking of Thy'lek Shran's timely appearance to save the crews of two Klingon ships, and his clever manipulation of the Klingons, to direct their wrath toward the Star Empire,"so we will send them a message to stay out of our affairs. A message they will understand."

"I will see it done, Praetor," said M'han.

* * *

The door's chime announced a visitor to the captain's Ready Room.

"Enter," said Trip, and then smiled as T'Pol entered the room. "What can I do for you, my little Vulcan beauty?"

T'Pol stepped up to the Fleet Captain's desk and laid a PADD on his desk.

—The latest status reports, sir, sent T'Pol through the Bond.

"You could have just transferred them to my computer," said Trip, coming round the desk, and eyeing T'Pol all up and down.

"I could have, but I wanted to see you, if only for a few moments. Am I intruding?"

Trip moved behind T'Pol, kissed the back of her neck, as his hands embraced her, right hand on stomach, pulling her close, left hand on breast, gently at work. T'Pol's breaths quickened and she was pleased that she had correctly anticipated her mate's response to her intrusion, for he always had something for her, a kiss, a touch, and often more. It was one of the reasons she enjoyed personally delivering the status reports, though it was normally considered a crewman's job.

Good, good, thought T'Pol. Now, mention the bear, my love, and I will know that I am really in trouble.

"You've interrupted your Fleet Captain hard at work, T'Pol," said Trip, "strutting in here and flaunting yourself shamelessly before my eyes, and in doing so you've riled up the bear. You've got him all worked up!"

Yes!, thought T'Pol, for she'd missed Trip's touch. The thousand and one things which required their attention daily meant they had little personal time together.

"All I did was walk in here, sir."

"And that was more than enough, T'Pol. Understand that about me, " said Trip, hands loosing the silk sash she wore wrapped around her torso, two inches below her breasts, as part of her uniform. "Now, let's break in my luxurious leather couch - it's a pullout, and I put some nice sheets on it, anticipating such an occasion."

—Someone could walk in on us, sent T'Pol, turning to face Trip, and taking his face in her hands.

"Computer," said Trip. "Seal the room."

The computer obeyed, and confirmed the completion of its task with a soft chime.

"This is most unprofessional, sir," said T'Pol, nevertheless working feverishly to slip out of her uniform, Trip helping her. "We are on duty."

"Then let's talk business, T'Pol," said Trip, slipping out of his Guards uniform. "I'm about to send you off my ship, and give you command of the Blood Wing."

"For what purpose?" said T'Pol, hands running over Trip's bare chest, and other bare parts as well, while the man comically struggled to kick off his boots now.

"A paragon of pure logic such as yourself shouldn't have to suffer my unwanted sexual advances, T'Pol," said Trip, finally managing to step out of his boots. "A transfer to the Blood Wing will keep you out of my reach, and safe from my desires."

"In that case, you will have to drag me off this ship yourself," said T'Pol, "I promise to throw a memorable tantrum, kicking and screaming every step of the way. It will be the talk of the Green Machine, and the Black Wind, when they hear of it."

"Is that logical, T'Pol?" said Trip, but then T'Pol gently pushed his face down to her breasts and then lower still, and the conversation ended, at least on his end, for T'Pol started speaking Vulcan in between her moans, sighs and whimpers.

* * *

Six hours after her delightful interlude with Trip, T'Pol returned to the Bridge, after a short nap, a period of meditation and a light meal, to find Trip conferring with the ship's Tactical officer. Neither man noticed her, and sensing the intensity of her mate's focus through the Bond, T'Pol approached them.

"Ah, T'Pol," said Trip. "I'm glad you're here. I'd like to apologize for my behavior during our earlier meeting in my Ready Room. I acted quite badly, and I was unduly demanding of you."

The man had a slight smile on his face, and T'Pol sensed his amusement through the Bond. He was toying with her, and the Tactical officer was none the wiser.

"No need to apologize, sir," said T'Pol, every inch the proper Vulcan. "I am quite certain that I deserved everything you dished out. Now, what is the situation?"

"We're cloaked, and following a Klingon squadron at Warp 2, T'Pol," said Trip, mind back on the matter at hand.

Trip knew that the presence of cloaked Romulan ships posed a tactical question for the Klingons. If they traveled at best speed, the Romulan's cloaking device would be unable to compensate properly, and the Romulan ships would be detected. But high speed warp travel left a detectable warp trail for much longer time periods than warp trails left by ships traveling at lower speeds. That the Klingons were plodding along at Warp 2, meant that this squadron, and perhaps others, were relying on stealth to get inside the borders of the Romulan Empire, in order to perform some kind of a mission.

Looking at the video monitor to get an overview of the situation, T'Pol said, "That is a squadron of sixty ships, sir. They outnumber us. Our strategy has been to strike here and there, in overwhelming numbers, and it's been working well. Even with the element of surprise, this is a risky proposition."

"I was just saying the same thing, sir," said the Tactical officer, looking at T'Pol. "Notice the Klingons ships are traveling with shields up, and I'll wager, weapons hot, though we're too far out to tell that for certain. They'll be ready for trouble."

Trip looked at them both, and said, "I'll decide on a course of action later. For now, we'll follow them, observe their operational procedures. We've got plenty of experience with Romulans, much less with Klingons. I want battle readiness across the board."

Both Tactical and T'Pol nodded to Fleet Captain Tucker. The speed of the subspace vortex drives they'd gotten from the Xindi allowed the Green Machine to easily monitor the entire length of the Romulan/Klingon border, so following this squadron would not hamper their effectiveness in any way, should something more important rear its head, so they did so for the next two days, before things took a strange turn.

* * *

Commander Moklor of House Toragh, led his squadron of ships to the particular set of coordinates given him, when he'd been given this mission. Two weeks ago, they'd passed the Northern Border of the Klingon Empire, to enter enemy territory, but so far, no contact with the Romulans. That was good. Now, as the squadron arrived at the proper coordinates, Moklor's ships found themselves inside a interstellar cloud formation almost a light year wide, at some 9,200,000,000,078 kilometers. The clouds were ionized and so diffused and somewhat see-through, as opposed to some of the denser, opaque, molecular cloud formations which were more common inside the Klingon Empire. Inside this cloud formation, Moklor saw hundreds of Klingon ships.

"Get me a count," said Moklor to the Tactical officer.

"Three hundred and twenty one ships," said Katogh.

"We're being hailed," said Kalitta, his Comm officer, and Moklor waved his hand at the Bridge video monitor.

When the monitor displayed the visage of Kho'Chi, a noted General and also a member of the High Council, everyone on the Bridge of Moklor's ship stood at attention.

"General and High Councilor," said Moklor, "we are at your service!"

"We all serve the Empire, Commander. That is why we're here," said Kho'Chi to Moklor, before looking to the side, to his Comm officer. "Put me on fleet-wide."

A moment later the Kho'Chi's Comm officer nodded, and the Klingon addressed the entire fleet, as each ship's PA system carried his voice to every single Klingon.

"Fellow warriors, we are gathered here on an honorable mission for the Empire," said Kho'Chi. "Two days travel from here is a place called Zi Hadre, where we will find one of the foundation stones of the Romulan military system, for Zi Hadre is the location of the Empire's second largest number of shipyards. In addition, the entire Zi Hadre system is used as a military training ground, as well as a place for the manufacture of many weapons. We will destroy the shipyards, and then bombard every planet in the system with atomics. We depart for Zi Hadre shortly, to burn it down, and if we do it properly, our eventual victory over the Romulans is assured!"

The Green Machine, which had followed Moklor's squadron to this gathering of Klingons, had listened intently to Kho'Chi's speech as their computers broke the lightweight encryption used by the Klingons and translated Kho'Chi's words almost immediately into English, and then listened as a great roar of approval rose from the crews of every Klingon ship, for this was a mission worthy of a Klingon warrior, and a successful outcome would cover every man in the fleet with glory, and honor!


	8. Chapter 8

**—Chapter 08—**

The Serex, a cloaked Romulan long-distance courier shuttle moved through the Procyon VIII system in which Andor was located. The Andorian home world was an icy moon in orbit round a ringed blue Class J Gas Giant which shifted ever constantly through a hundred shades of blue, streaked occasionally with several dozen shades of green.

The Federation's ability to detect cloaked ships had much improved lately, due to a through study of the cloaking device discovered aboard the ship captured by the Volares after the Black Wind's first mission against a Romulan shipyard, and the crew of the Serex was cautious. But they'd made this run before, several times, to kidnap a number of Aenar for the Tal Shiar, while others had done so to plant spies on Andor, so although they were wary of the sensor nets of the Andorians, which were good enough to detect a large cloaked ship now, or even a smaller ship such as theirs if contained atomics or photon torpedoes, they were confident that they would slip through in their present state, to land on Andor, and so they did.

The Romulans, named Rhael Tirn, Lareah N'Vek and Hrill Tovan, were well trained for this mission. All were former members of the Tal Shava, the Imperial Marines, all later recruited by the Teth Koros, where they received even more specialized assassination, sabotage and infiltration training and skills which were added to an Imperial Marine's already existing superb combat skills. All this was done to create the perfect weapons, and these weapons were here with a purpose. In service of this purpose, they'd suffered plastic surgery to alter their appearance, stained their skin blue, and suffered the implantation of Andorian styled antennas in their skulls, fully articulated and computer chip controlled to match their moods, which were made available to the antennas through the implantation of small electrodes into their skulls.

"Disgusting," said N'Vek, catching a glimpse of himself in a shiny patch of polished steel, and Tovan chuckled at that, and agreed.

"It's not like we'll have to worry about it for long," said Rhael, for none of them expected to survive their mission, "so deal with it."

N'Vek and Tovan agreed with a laugh, as the thought of their deaths did not deter them from their mission.

* * *

T'Pol was in the Ready Room, having just finished communicating with the Green Hawk's captain, when Trip walked into the room, food tray in hand.

"What's this?" said T'Pol.

"A snack, T'Pol," said Trip, laying out the food: two bowls of clear Vietnamese soups, vegetarian for her, seafood for him, along with three crab and pork spring rolls for him, and two vegetarian rolls for T'Pol.

"I hope you have a plan, Trip," said T'Pol, looking speculatively at her mate, after taking a bite out of a spring roll. "We are heading into the middle of a hell of a fire-fight."

Trip looked at T'Pol, and said, "So you don't believe that the Klingons will catch the Romulans by surprise?"

T'Pol shook her head, and said, "Not a chance in hell, sir. If these shipyards and military training grounds at Zi Hadre are as important to the Romulans as the Klingons believe them to be, they will be well guarded."

"Not our problem," said Trip, fishing out a giant prawn out of his soup with his chopsticks, and tearing into it with gusto. "Every ship they lose fighting against each other, is one less ship they can send against the Federation, and if the Klingons actually destroy the shipyards as well, so much the better."

"So why follow the Klingons to Zi Hadre, sir?" said T'Pol, dipping her second spring roll in peanut sauce. "We could go stir trouble elsewhere, while they handle their disagreements in private."

She sipped some broth directly from the bowl, then brought some rice noodles to her lips by adeptly using the chopsticks which had given her so much trouble initially.

"Because if the Klingons fail to take out the shipyards," said Trip, "we'll take them out."

"But," said T'Pol, confused now, "if we open fire on the shipyards, the demands our disruptors will place on the energy systems means that we will lose our cloak, and our game will be apparent even to the Klingons. As foolish as they can be at times, surely they would question why Romulan ships would attack Romulan assets."

T'Pol was partially correct. If the Green Machine's ships opened fire with their disruptors, the energy demands of the weapons would render the cloak ineffective, but he had a different idea.

"True," said Trip, polishing off his second spring roll, then sipping some broth along with a nice piece of crab meat, "but we'll attack the shipyards with our atomics."

T'Pol nodded. Launching a salvo of atomic missles would not place any demand on the energy systems, so they could remain cloaked, as well as attack, but they'd started out with twenty-four nukes for each ship, and most ships had used some already during the course of this mission, so it was unclear if they had enough to wipe out the shipyards. Another problem was that nuclear weapons were actually much less destructive, and much less effective, in the vacuum of space, as opposed to their effects inside a planet's atmosphere.

Atomic weapons had three main damage constituents: direct heat, blast overpressure which created a shock wave strong enough to tear apart most structures, and the prompt radiation dose released by the nuclear explosion. However, the massive heat caused by a nuclear blast would be wasted to a great degree and sucked away instantly from the target by the endless cold vacuum of space, so that while structures in space would still take damage, they would not be vaporized by the heat. The second constituent, blast overpressure was only applicable in a planet's atmosphere, not the vacuum of space, while the third damage constituent, the prompt release of radiation was largely negated by the fact that space itself was always a highly radioactive place, and all space ships and structures were already well shielded from radiation as a matter of course.

"We would have be relatively close to our targets," said T'Pol, already calculating in her head the most effective range in which to operate to be able to destroy the Romulan shipyards, should the Klingons fail at that task.

"Yes," said Trip, "but we don't have to worry about a blast wave and our shields will protect us from any debris. We don't even have to worry about an EMP wave, so no worry about our communications."

That was true, thought T'Pol. The electro-magnetic-pulse from an atomic weapon was caused by the interaction of ionized electrons from the atmosphere traveling at high speeds and being bent by a planet's magnetic field, which was not a concern in space. T'Pol said nothing, for she was mentally calculating the variables, when the Comm officer's voice drew their attention.

"Captain Tucker to the Bridge. The Klingons are on the move."

* * *

Although Talrood's schedule was a closely guarded secret, and although his movements and routes were purposefully made random, there was one day and one place where he could be counted upon to be present, once every three years, despite the advice of his bodyguards.

It took a full three years to inculcate the basic skills of an Imperial Guard into a raw recruit, though he would not be considered a full Guard until another three years passed in service, and Talrood had attended the graduation ceremony of every class since he'd become Emperor, and he was there this day, Malcolm by his side, along with Admirals Tsoi, Slizzko, Feurth, and Generals Holaq, Te-Kan and Obri.

Also here, though separated from the Emperor by a span of some 1,800 yards, were the Romulans turned Andorians, Rhael, N'Vek and Tovan. They were on a distant bluff, overlooking the ceremonial grounds, and waiting for their chance to strike, waiting for a chance to send a message to these Andorians. They brought with them the weapons they needed from their ship, a long, powerful rifle for Rhael, a disruptor rifle and a quality scope for N'vek his spotter, while Tovan, was hunting a very special target elsewhere, on his own, as he preferred to work.

"You think Tovan's got a chance to accomplish his mission?"said N'Vek, looking at Rhael.

The older Romulan, never took his eye off his target on the field below, for he was watching the Emperor through the scope of his long rifle as the Andorian moved among the instructors of the Academy, paying his respects to the men who turned out his Imperial Guards.

"He'll do his best, of that I'm sure," said Rhael. "Now shut the fuck up and focus on our assignment."

"Yes, Centurion," said N'Vek, chastened.

For a moment Rhael regretted that the young N'Vek would die here today, for he was a fine young man, but then Rhael knew better: their target was worth both of their lives, easily. As for Tovan, well, his target was just as worthy, or pretty damned close.

"Remember,"said Rhael, "we move immediately after my shots. We have other targets of value if we miss this one."

N'Vek nodded, and smiled in anticipation. If he had to trade his life for Andorians, he meant to cause as much damage as possible before his inevitable end.

Everyone on the field below was taking their seats, and that was good. At this distance, some 1,800 yards, the bullet would have five, maybe six seconds of flight time: so the shot would have to be taken when Talrood was stationary, at the podium, else the risk was too great of missing the target.

"There," said Rhael to N'Vek, "that blue fucker is at the podium finally. Go, N'Vek."

N'Vek's scope was a work of art really, and had many useful functions built into it. As the Romulan pressed a button and invisible laser beam reached out to Talrood to interrogate the target, and the space in between.

"Range, 1,803 yards. Wind, three-quarter value. Push 2 left."

"On target," said Rhael, a moment later, after having made the adjustment suggested by N'Vek in view of the wind.

Rhael had a choice to make here. A head shot would be best, but the Andorian Emperor moved his head in a lively manner as he spoke to the newly graduated Guards, in order to look at them all now and then, and the risk of missing the shot was too great given the six second flight time delay between shot taken and the bullet's arrival on target, so Rhael decide to aim for the Emperor's heart.

"Fire when ready," said N'Vek.

* * *

Kho'Chi's fleet of 381 Klingon ships had closed in on Zi Hadre, and dropped out of warp, shields up, weapons hot, with the fifty-four Romulan shipyards clearly showing up on sensors, and only 80,000km distant, and that's when the unexpected happened, for hundreds and hundreds of Romulan ships decloaked in a large semi-circle, standing between the Klingons and the Romulan shipyards.

"We're being hailed," said Kho'Chi's Comm officer.

Kho'Chi was trying to make sense of it all. That the Romulans were here in force confirmed the importance of Zi Hadre to the Romulans, but it was more than that. The Romulans couldn't afford to keep some five hundred ships stationary here, not when his own people were pressing the Romulans so hard elsewhere precisely to drain resources away from Zi Hadre. They must have been spotted on the way here by a cloaked Romulan ship, and an ambush set here for them.

But why did they decloak at such a distance from us? thought Kho'Chi. They could have maximized the impact of their numbers if they'd waited a bit longer before decloaking.

"Admiral?" said the Comm officer once again.

"Put them on," said Kho'Chi.

A Romulan flashed to life on the video monitor, and he said, "I am Admiral H'Vaed. I wish to speak to you, Klingon. We can always fight afterwards if my words do not sway you."

"So speak, Romulan," said Kho'Chi, "and then let our battle be joined."

"Oh, the battle will be joined," said H'Vaed, "but once you hear me out, you may find yourself fighting side by side with me, for we have a common enemy."

* * *

The Green Machine was still cloaked in the rear of the Klingon battle formations, and its ships waited, disciplined, for instructions from the Black Wing, and Fleet Captain Tucker.

"—for we have a common enemy."

Trip listened to those words and he came to a decision, instantly. The Romulans and the Klingons would not be allowed to speak of a common enemy.

"Order each ship in the fleet to pick out a Klingon target," said Trip, looking at T'Pol. "Tell them to get close to their targets, I don't want the Klingons to have time to react, and escape their fate. Once we've taken our shots, we slip past them both and head for the shipyards, while the Klingons and the Romulans go at it."

T'Pol passed along the order, first to the relevant crew members aboard the Black Wing, and then those orders were passed to the other ships of the Green Machine, by short burst encrypted transmission, which looked like nothing much but background static. Within minutes, the Green Machine was ready, and spread out behind the Klingons, their targets in their sights.

* * *

"What common enemy, Romulan?" said Kho'Chi, after considering the Romulan's words for a few moments. "The only enemy I see, is you."

"Then you are not looking closely enough. May I suggest you power down your weapons, and shields. We will do the same. Then perhaps we could meet, and discuss the matter."

"You must be joking, Romulan," said Kho'Chi. "I have no intention of laying down my weapons before you."

H'Vaed looked at someone off screen, snapped his fingers, and a moment later, Kho'Chi's Tactical officer said, "The Romulans have powered down their weapons, lowered their shields."

After a moment's hesitation, Kho'Chi said, "Do the same."

The Comm officer passed that order along to the other ship's of Kho'Chi's fleet and a moment later, Kho'Chi looked at the Romulan Admiral.

"So, H'Vaed, who is this enemy we have in common?"

* * *

—Are we ready?, sent Trip, along the Bond to T'Pol.

"Tactical?" said T'Pol.

"Everyone reports ready, sir," said the Tactical officer, looking at T'Pol.

—On my mark, T'Pol, sent Trip, taking a last look at everyone's position on the Bridge video display.

T'Pol waited, poised, the Bridge crew along with the Vulcan, knowing that the captain and his mate were in psionic communication.

—Fire, sent Trip, along with a mental nod, and the Vulcan said, "Open fire!"

Her order was transmitted almost instantly to the other ships of the Green Machine and forty-seven ships loosed forty-seven atomic missiles towards the Klingon ships.

* * *

"Treachery!" shouted Kho'Chi's Tactical officer, splitting the Bridge video display in two, to show forty-seven Klingon ships exploding on the right side of the screen, along with H'Vaed's face displayed on the left.

Kho'Chi was speechless with rage for the moment. He'd been a fool to trust the word of a Romulan!

"Who is firing?" screamed H'Vaed. "Order them to stop firing!"

"None of our ships, Admiral," said H'Vaed's Tactical Officer. "It must be the Others."

The Klingons had powered up their weapons, charged their shields, followed closely by the Romulans.

"ATTACK!" said Kho'Chi. "Kill them all!"

"No," said H'Vaed. "Listen, this is what I wa—"

Kho'Chi gestured to his Comm officer. That Klingon severed the connection, and the battle began, each side jockeying for position, for advantage, for victory, as the Green Machine slipped past the battle, to close in on the shipyards.

* * *

"Fire when ready," N'Vek had said, and Rhael had done so.

One shot, then another, a split second behind the first, both bullets headed for Talrood, the Andorian Emperor, as Rhael held his breath. The first shot hit Talrood right on time, knocking the Andorian backwards, and the second bullet struck him true as well, before the Emperor fell backwards to the ground. Civilians would have scattered from the stage, but the Admirals, Generals and Guards jumped between Rhael and the Emperor as a Human and a Guard dragged the Emperor out of sight, blue blood staining their clothes and their hands. Rhael was tempted to shoot the Andorians blocking his view of Talrood, but he and N'Vek had to move now, and the Human had quickly disappeared. Whether or not he succeeded here, thought Rhael, the Guards would soon find them if they remained here.

But just as the Guards had underestimated the possibility of someone making such a long shot, the Romulans had underestimated the Guard's security net. As soon as Rhael had fired the first shot, directional microphones aimed out from the stage, picked up the sound of the first shot, then the second. Computer algorithms pinpointed the precise direction and distance from which the shots had been taken and forwarded those coordinates to a number of Guard stations. One of those Guards stations was the battlecruiser Tjek-Sa in stationary orbit above Andoria, and seconds after receiving those coordinates, the Tjek-Sa's computers scanned the given coordinates, detected two Vulcan or Romulan life signs, for they were one and the same from an evolutionary viewpoint, and launched a two thousand pound bomb to the planet below, right atop the Romulan lifesigns. N'Vek and Rhael were killed instantly as they prepared to depart, without any awareness of passing from life, into death.


	9. Chapter 9

**—Chapter 09—**

"Medic!" screamed Malcolm.

He'd dragged Talrood off the stage, and leaned the Emperor against the its side, as he tore Talrood's Guards uniform from his body to assess the damage done by the sniper. To his surprise, the Emperor had worn some type of soft body armor, which had done some good. One bronze bullet was pressed flat and stuck to the body armor, and though the bullet had not penetrated the armor, it had probably broken some ribs, and done some internal damage. The other bullet had indeed penetrated the Emperor's torso, and the Andorian was coughing up blue blood, in addition to what blue blood was leaking out of the man. Surprisingly enough, the Andorian was still conscious, and he laughed weakly, as the medics began working on him.

"The Romulans have some fine snipers," said Talrood, looking at Malcolm.

"Shut up, fool," said Malcolm. "Save your strength."

Talrood moaned in relief, for one of the medics had just injected him with a strong pain killer, then looked at Malcolm, and the Andorian commanders hovering anxiously behind the Human.

"We need to get him out of here and into a medical suite," said one of the medics, to the Guard kneeling next to him.

"Medical shuttle is on the way," said the Guard, looking at the medic. "Three minutes out."

Talrood was gasping for breath now and it was with difficulty that he brought his hands together, to remove the Imperial signet ring from his left hand. He gestured that Malcolm should take it, and put it on.

"See that my will is done, regarding the Federation. I would not see it die along with me," said Talrood, then promptly passed out.

Malcolm stepped back as the medics laid out a gurney and placed Talrood upon it, then hustled for the medical shuttle. He turned around, then noted the odd looks the Andorian commanders were giving him.

"What are your orders, Highness?" said Obri, the highest ranking military officer there.

"What?" said Malcolm.

"When Talrood gave you the Imperial Signet Ring, he named you his successor. You are the Emperor of Andoria now," said Obri, and there was no telling how the Andorian felt about that fact.

Malcolm was stunned for the moment, but it quickly passed. He looked at the Andorians, his thoughts racing. He knew the Andorians were a proud people, and an alien Emperor was probably too much for them to swallow, no matter that he had come by his office in a lawful manner. There were lawful ways of removing an Emperor, as well as unlawful, and Malcolm suspected that soon he'd be dealing with both, unless he won these men over, for although there were hundreds of Guards of high rank, these six were some of the highest ranking.

"How many of you know of the Green Machine?" said Malcolm.

Only Obri nodded at the Emperor.

"Then the rest of you will learn of the Green Machine, and you will learn why the Romulans are in a uniquely weak position at the moment, and then you six will support my reign long enough that I might make a gesture to honor Talrood," said Malcolm, no longer naming the Andorian as Emperor, "before I have to start fighting for my life against Andorians."

"What kind of gesture, Highness?" said Tsoi.

"I will take the Black Wind Fleet, along with as many other Andorian battleships as I can spare, into Romulan space," said Malcolm, "and I will bleed the Romulans out, or hammer out a peace treaty, probably one after the other."

"I have heard rumors of a war between the Klingons and the Romulans," said Feurth. "Is that why your Highness believes he will succeed where we have failed before?"

"They're not just rumors, Admiral," said Malcolm, looking at the Andorian. "They are at war, and that is the doing of the Green Machine, and Fleet Captain Tucker. The losses which the Romulans have suffered during this war with the Klingons, along with the losses they sustained at the Battle of Vulcan, leaves them in a precarious position. General Obri will fill you in, while I check on Talrood. Discuss the matter amongst yourselves, discuss the matter with others of high rank among the Guards, and let me know if I can count on your support long enough that I might put my plan in motion. I want to know by morning, one way or the other."

* * *

The battle at Zi Hadre between the Romulans and the Klingons had been a disaster for both sides. Of the 381 Klingon ships which had come to this sector, all but ten had been destroyed, and those ten had been dispatched to flee back to the Klingon Empire at top speed and report the events which had taken place here. Kho'Chi had chosen to die here, for blood washed away dishonor, and by Klingon custom such a death was still honorable, even if the mission had ended in defeat.

Of the 511 ships the Romulans had here, some 228 had been destroyed, many of the rest damaged, and when the battle was over and the last Klingon ship destroyed, the Romulans had the displeasure of seeing their shipyards reduced to scrap by a combination of atomic weapons and the disruptor fire of a seemingly Romulan fleet, before it warped away.

* * *

Talrood was unconscious, he was in bad shape, but he had a chance to live, and after confirming that a round the clock guard would be placed around Talrood, Malcolm decided to return to the palace. He had work to do. On his way out of the hospital he saw a doctor applying a bandage to Talas' arm and shoulder, Admiral Tsoi and a Guard standing next to her. Malcolm caught the Guard's eye and motioned the Andorian to him.

"Highness," said the Guard, for word of the events which had happened earlier had spread through the Guards like wildfire.

"What's wrong with Lieutenant Talas?" said Malcolm.

"An assassin tried to kill Elarann and Talrood's unborn child in her womb, at roughly the same time that the former Emperor was attacked," said the Guard. "The assassin killed two Guards, before Lieutenant Talas and Guardsman Bes stopped him, though they were both wounded, Bes quite badly."

"Elarann still lives?"

"Yes, Highness."

"Where is she?"

"At the palace, Highness."

"Good," said Malcolm. "Dismissed."

The Guard saluted the Emperor, and departed.

"Always getting in trouble, this one," said Malcolm, looking at Talas, as he entered the room.

The Lieutenant turned to give Malcolm one of her lopsided grins, and Tsoi saluted Malcolm respectfully.

"I hear you finally did an honest day's work, Lieutenant-Commander Talas," said Malcolm.

"Eh, Lieutenant," said Talas.

"It's not wise to correct your commanding officer without good reason, Lt-Commander Talas," said Malcolm. "Is that not so, Admiral?"

"Quite so," said Tsoi.

"Yes, Highness," said Lt-Commander Talas.

"How is Guardsman Bes?"

"He was stabbed several times, but he'll be back on duty in a month or two," said Tsoi.

"Good," said Malcolm. "I want him promoted as well, and a commendation for bravery entered into both of their records. The two Guards that were killed are to be honored as well. You will see to it, Admiral."

"Yes, Highness," said Tsoi.

"For tonight," said Malcolm, "I'd like you to look into the security arrangements for Elarann, please. Talrood is a friend, and I don't want to face him and tell him that his consort and unborn child are dead due to my negligence, if there should be another assassin out there. You will see to it, because you know best the arrangements to be made."

"I will do so right now, Highness," said Tsoi, privately approving of Malcolm's actions.

"Thank you," said Malcolm.

"Yes, Highness," said Tsoi. "By the way, the Guards have decided to support you."

"Really?" said Malcolm, surprised at such a quick decision.

"Opinion was split, mostly due to your species," said Tsoi, "for Talrood's action was lawful, but we are not a people easily given to be ruled by an outsider. However, the alternative was that Guard should kill Guard, for some would honor Talrood's last act, and others deny it, and that has never happened in our history. How long we support your rule will depend on your actions, Highness."

"Understood," said Malcolm, and Tsoi excused himself to see to Elarann.

"How long do you have to remain here?" said Malcolm, looking at Talas.

"They want to keep me here overnight, Highness," said Talas.

"Listen, cut the crap, Talas," said Malcolm. "At least in private."

"Highness?"

"Your formality is out of place, considering the things we do to each other on a regular basis," said Malcolm, a grin on his face, and Talas grinned back.

"I hate to leave you here when you're hurt," said Malcolm, "I'd stay if I could, but I have to get back to the palace. I need the support system there, the communications set up, in order to begin planning a campaign into Romulan space, as payback for the attack on Talrood and Elarann. We're going to take the fight to the Romulans in a serious way."

"I understand," said Talas, approving of Malcolm's intentions to avenge Talrood, for she was a Guard. "You will make a place for me on your ship, Malcolm."

"You're wounded, Talas, and we leave within the week. If you're not fit, you're useless on a ship of war."

"You will make a place for me on your ship, Malcolm."

"I might at that," said Malcolm, "if you promise to be sweet."

"So long as you take me along, I'll be as sweet as a Risan plum, Malcolm."

"I'll think about it, and let you know, Lt-Commander Talas."

Talas caressed the hilt of her Guards dagger, which had already been blooded once today, and said, "Make the right choice, Malcolm."

Malcolm stepped forward, grabbed a handful of Talas' hair and kissed her thoroughly, then fixed her with a narrow eyed glance, and a scoundrel's grin, and said, "Don't ever threaten me again, Talas. You really don't know the kind of man you're dealing with."

Talas looked at Malcolm, wide eyed now, antennas stiff, as her mouth moved slightly, but produced no words. Malcolm could really be quite intimidating when he put his mind to it.

* * *

"What now?" said T'Pol,

She was back in the Black Wing's Ready Room, looking at Trip with curiosity, for they had received a priority 1 message from the Kumari, just outside Romulan space.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," said Trip, gently tugging at her uniform, as if unwrapping a present.

"Tell me anyway," said T'Pol, helping Trip out, a lovely breast slipping out of the Vulcan's uniform, as partial payment for their efforts.

"Malcolm is now the Andorian Emperor, and he intends to pay a visit to the Romulan home worlds," said Trip. "We're to sweep every sensor, every listening station, every Romulan patrol from his path, five days from now. He intends to surprise them."

"Talrood?" said T'Pol, troubled, for she'd genuinely respected the Andorian.

"He's alive, but wounded. Assassination attempt by the Romulans."

"That was a mistake," said T'Pol. "It does not pay to rile up the Andorians, unless one has the means to pacify them."

"Well, I intend to pacify you, T'Pol," said Trip, as the two worked on his Guards uniform now. "Now. Through the application of extreme passion."

"I can not wait," said T'Pol, running her hands over her body, for she could tell through the Bond that Trip found it exciting.

The Comm officer's voice interrupted their festivities.

"Captain to Engineering at your convenience."

"Are you kidding me?" said Trip, then he noted that T'Pol was picking up her uniform as if intending to get dressed. "What are you doing, T'Pol?"

"You may need my assistance," said T'Pol.

"Negative," said Trip. "Take this chance to meditate while I go check out the problem, because I intend to test the limits of your emotional control through some fancy new tricks I picked up from reading a Risan manual of erotic positions. Just be ready to pick things up from where we left them."

T'Pol, gave a jaunty salute, and said, "Sir, yes, sir!"


	10. Chapter 10

**—Chapter 10—**

The Emperor led the two hundred ships of the Black Wind along with another four hundred thirteen Andorian ships, having left a sizable contingent behind him, in order to defend Andoria and Vulcan during his absence. Both StarFleet and the Vulcan High Command had been stunned at the scope of the Emperor's ambitions, but had little choice in the matter. The Vulcan Navy was still devastated by the Battle of Vulcan and only slowly rebuilding its strength, and they were in no position to offer any assistance with this mission, other than the Vulcan ships already part of the Black Wind. StarFleet debated privately if they should order Commander Reed to abandon his plan, then debated more if he would even obey such an order, for the Andorians would follow him regardless of StarFleet's wishes, and debated again what ramifications his refusal would have on the Federation. Finally, they chose to support his decision, and hope for the best.

The Emperor's targets were the Romulan home worlds, Remus and Romulus, and so the fleet headed directly North, for these worlds lay far and away from the bloody Southern Romulan/Klingon Border. The fleet ran dark on this voyage, avoiding other worlds and other ships until well North of Bolarus, where the fleet made a change in heading, to North-West, crossing into the Romulan Empire at KaTun.

They were met there by a Romulan fleet here, already partially blooded by the Green Machine, and the battle was joined without preamble. The ships of the Green Machine took no part in this battle, for the Emperor had ordered them far off, lest in the confusion of battle the Emperor's ships should mistake the Green Machine for enemy, and attack. The battle was bloody, but it was also short, for the Romulans had not been expecting an attack from this quarter, and the majority of their ships were battling Klingons down South, and in due time, the Emperor's fleet arrived at the Romulan worlds, Romulus and Remus. There, the ships of the Emperor's fleet dispersed, in order that each ship might take a position over a Romulan city.

"Hail the Romulans," said the Emperor. "Inform them that I will have their unconditional surrender, or I will order every one of their cities destroyed from orbit."

Some of the Vulcan and Human officers on the Bridge looked uneasily at each other at the thought of such horror, but they were certain that the Emperor was bluffing. Wasn't he?

Admiral Tsoi, the Emperor's second in command during this mission, smiled grimly. Talrood had chosen wisely in elevating this Human to Emperor. As to whether he believed that the Emperor was bluffing the Romulans, or completely serious in making his threat, the Admiral kept that insight to himself.

"Highness," said the Comm officer, and motioned towards the Bridge video monitor.

A distinguished looking Romulan with the facial symmetry and refined features of a patrician appeared on the monitor, surrounded by the assembled ruling class, for his image was being transmitted from the Imperial Senate chamber. The computers managing the Senate Chamber had easily integrated English, Andorian and Vulcan into the translator subroutines months ago. It had been done in order to communicate demands after Romulan victory, but it came in handy now, that he might communicate with these barbarians threatening the Star Empire.

"I am Praetor Solos," said the Romulan in his tonque, his words translated for the Human.

"I am the Andorian Emperor," said Malcolm in English, his words translated to Romulan.

"And yet you do not look Andorian," said the Praetor.

"Nevertheless, it is true. I'm coming to address your Imperial Senate."

The Praetor nodded, and said, "Your words will easily be translated and heard by all, and vice versa, on the Senate floor."

The Emperor nodded, and ordered the connection severed. He then looked at Admiral Tsoi.

"If the Romulans attempt treachery," said the Emperor, "do not bargain with them for my safety or my life. Finish it as you see fit, but finish it today."

"Understood, Highness," said Tsoi, and gave the Emperor a formal salute, in case the man should be killed on the planet below, unlikely as that was: the Romulans would know the consequences for treachery, or resistance.

Once the Emperor had left the Bridge, Admiral Tsoi looked at the Comm officer, and said, "Hail the Romulans and order them to share the video feed from the Imperial Senate Chamber with us. If they don't have such a feed, order them to get one up by the time the Emperor reaches the Senate. I want to keep an eye on these treacherous curs until they surrender. Share the feed with every ship in the fleet. This moment has been a long time coming."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Two Andorian shuttles made their way to the planet below, towards the Romulan Empire's capital, LhaerTa, eventually coming to land in the Imperial Plaza. It was impressive as hell, a large round plaza, surrounded by large, elegant public buildings, conveying both strength and beauty. The two thousand Romulan soldiers lining the path from the landing pad in the center of the plaza to a particularly fine building was a nice touch, but if it was meant to be intimidating, it failed to impress the Andorian Emperor when he eventually walked that path.

The Emperor's Honor Guard, two squads of ten Imperial Guards each, led by Lt-Commander Talas, exited the ships first, then flanked the Emperor as he walked through the Plaza, then the Senate Complex, and shortly thereafter, entered the Senate Chamber, which was large, opulent, well lit and well attended, for the full Senate awaited the Andorian Emperor, in addition to a hundred soldiers, though they were there purely for show: they all knew the penalty for attacking the Emperor.

On the opposite side of the chamber from the door which the Emperor had used to enter this place, sat Praetor Solos upon one of the elegant chairs which were provided for the Senate. He was flanked, by three Romulans on each side. The Emperor came within twenty feet of the Praetor, who clearly meant to keep him standing, as if he was a scullery maid in the presence of her employer.

"I wish to sit, Idris," said the Emperor, looking to one of his Guards.

The Andorian nodded, walked up to the nearest Romulan Senator and kicked him swiftly and brutally in the chest, bowling the Romulan over, then brought the Romulan's chair to the Emperor, so that the man might sit.

The Romulan Praetor reflected briefly on the Guard's action, then said, "On behalf of my people I offer unconditional surrender."

"I accept your surrender," said the Emperor. "My terms are simple. You may retain the borders of your empire as they are now, but along any border facing Federation planets you will create a Neutral Zone, one light year wide. None of your ships will enter that zone, for any reason at all. Doing so will be considered an act of war. The only exception will be made for a single uncloaked ship headed for either Vulcan, Earth or Andoria, for the purpose of establishing diplomatic relations with the Federation, if the time ever comes that you should wish such a thing."

"That's it?" said the Praetor, for the terms were surprisingly generous.

"That's it, as far as concluding a peace treaty between the Federation and the Romulan Star Empire."

"I accept on behalf of my people," said the Praetor.

"Good. Now, on to some personal business," said the Emperor. "Who was responsible for the assassination attempt on Talrood and his consort?" said the Emperor.

"I was," said the Praetor.

"Then you'll die today," said the Emperor.

That thought did not disturb Praetor Solos in the least. The alternative was that the Andorian battlecruisers in orbit above his worlds should bombard the planet below, destroying the Romulan homeworlds and cruelly decimating his people. His life was a small price to pay to avoid that fate, and in any case, he stood a good chance of being executed soon enough, for this entire debacle, starting with the plan to conquer Vulcan, which had started it all, had been his doing.

"Very well," said Solos. "Should I blow my brains out with a disruptor, or will you demand that I undergo some barbaric Andorian tortures first?"

"I intend to kill you myself in personal combat, Praetor," said the Emperor. "It's an Andorian custom."

Praetor Solos smiled, and said, "Really? You will kill me in personal combat, Human. Am I allowed to fight back?"

"Oh, yes, Praetor," said the Emperor. "It would not be sporting, otherwise, nor would it honor Andorian custom."

"And if I should SOMEHOW win, and kill you?" said Solos, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

"Then you live, Praetor," said the Emperor. "You've got your peace treaty, and the Romulan Empire retains the dubious benefit of your incompetent rule."

Oh, this is too good, thought Solos. Killing this pretentious Human would salvage at least a shred of honor from this entire failure, which had begun with the plan to invade and conquer Vulcan, seemingly so long ago.

"I accept your challenge, Human," said the Praetor.

"I may be a Human, but I stand before you as the Andorian Emperor, Praetor," said the Emperor. "To forget that fact carries a price."

An Andorian Guard to the Emperor's left, named Ular, raised his rifle and shot the three Romulan Senators to the Praetor's left in the head within the span of a second, the Director of the Tal Shiar among them. Ular was fanatically loyal to the Emperor, as every other Imperial Guard, and had been honored to be included in this mission, both to protect the Emperor, as well as avenge the former Emperor's attempted murder. As far as Ular was concerned, this Romulan's disrespect for the Emperor would not be tolerated.

Praetor Solos did not flinch, even when a spray of green blood streaked his face, yet he felt a cold outrage at the violence committed by this barbarian inside the very chamber which housed the Imperial Senate. It was unforgivable.

"Do you understand me, Praetor?" said the Emperor calmly, though Ular's actions had not been expected.

Solos said nothing, and Ular raised his rifle once more.

"I understand you, Emperor," said Solos, and Ular lowered his rifle. "I await your pleasure. Weapons?"

"Daggers," said the Emperor.

Every Section 31 operative received exhaustive training in the many assorted skills required in that line of work, among them armed and unarmed combat, and almost every operative tended to pick and choose and specialize in some facet of combat that suited their personality best. For Malcolm, he'd favored unarmed combat and small blades, because both were discreet, both were effective, and both could be quickly brought to bear in order to surprise an adversary, attributes which were highly desirable in his former vocation.

"When, Emperor?" said the Praetor.

"Now," said the Emperor, standing, and one of his Guards dragged away his chair, leaving a large, circular open space in the middle of the Imperial Senate.

* * *

In the span of a few minutes, the Emperor had contacted Admiral Tsoi to inform him of the Emperor's challenge, to inform him that a peace treaty had been agreed upon, and that the fleet was not to destroy the Romulan home worlds if he were killed here today. Admiral Tsoi confirmed his orders, and then the Emperor stripped off his shirt and jacket, leaving him in pants and t-shirt.

In the meantime, the Praetor had donned a soldier's trousers, a long sleeved undershirt and thin leather gloves. A moment later, he was handed a soldier's dagger by one of his Centurions, and the Praetor waited. He was actually quite optimistic. He intended to kill this Human, and given how generous the 'Emperor's' terms had been, there was a small chance that he would retain his head, if not his title, or his power. All he had to do was kill the Human.

The Romulans watched the Emperor speak a few quiet words to the Andorian female in charge of his Guards, watched her grasp the man's forearm, and he hers, before she stepped back. The Imperial Senate Chamber hushed when the Emperor drew his blade, looking at the Praetor, and without preamble stepped towards the Romulan. Likewise, the Romulan approached the Human, with reasonable caution, but also a rightly deserved optimism, bringing his dagger up as the two combatants came within twenty feet of the other.

What puzzled the Praetor was the odd blade the human carried, instead of the expected Guards dagger. It was a small blade, three to four inches long, double edged, wickedly curved like a tiger's claw. The Human held the entire grip in his fist with an icepick grip, his index finger driven through a ring built into the end of the hilt, while the curved blade jutted forward from the bottom of his fist, blade pointing towards the Romulan.

They closed distance, feinted, adjusted distance, feinted again, attacked or parried or stepped back, in a seemingly half-hearted manner, for they were merely studying reaction times, stance, tendencies in the other when pressed, and a hundred other assorted and vital bits of data. When the Praetor judged that he'd learned enough of the human, he closed the distance, stepped forward and thrust at the human's eyes explosively fast, in order to distract and create an opening for more. The human sidestepped the thrust to the inside, and further, he blocked the arm with his left hand, while the right hand, with his odd little dagger, slashed upwards, the hooked blade cutting the inside of the Praetor's arm quite effectively, despite the size of the blade.

The Praetor gave the human a cold smile, and regrouped, though his wound bled freely. He closed distance once more with the human, switched his grip on the dagger to match his intention, and moved closer still. With impressive speed, he kicked the Human's shin, knocking him from his feet, then jumped forward to stab his opponent, but missed, for the Human moved well on the ground, and before the Human could stand, the Praetor aimed a vicious kick at his head. That was a mistake, for the human brought up his hands. The left trapped the Praetor's foot and kept it from rising higher, while the right used that curved blade from below to hook the Praetor's leg and cut deeply into the Romulan's tendon, what the Humans called the Achille's tendon, in a way he could not have done as easily with a straight blade. The pain was immediate and severe. The Praetor could barely keep from screaming out in pain, but he would not give this alien that satisfaction. He was effectively hobbled now, while the Human rose to his feet easily in a controlled and confident manner, for he was clearly aware of how devastating his attack had been. The Praetor stood still. He could not chase the Human any more. He would let the Human come to him.

As the Human approached him, the Praetor noted that he held his hands before him like a boxer, and the Praetor realized that the man had essentially been using an unarmed combat style this entire time, the small blade only making his attacks more effective, and giving him more options, as opposed to fighting as a knife fighter. Not that it mattered. Either way, the Praetor knew he had to lure the human close, trap him, kill him, and do it quickly at that.

The Human approached, and the Praetor thrust at the Human, and missed, then slashed, but that was a mistake. The Human batted away the arm, punched the Praetor's chin, the hilt of his knife making his strike even more effective, then turned his fist over, hooked the Praetor's pectoral muscle at the top with the tip of his knife and dragged the blade downwards swiftly, slashing deeply. A blade that sharp did not require much force to hook and sever muscle effectively, and once the knife exited his chest muscle, the Human simply turned fist over, and reversed his path, cutting deeply into the Praetor's forearm, on it's underside, where less muscle existed to protect nerves and arteries. The Praetor dropped the dagger from his right hand, but slammed his left arm into the Human from the top, to drive the Human to the ground. The Human fell to one knee, but kicked the Praetor's damaged leg out from under him, then as the Romulan struggled to his hands and knees, the Human stood, and brought his fist, curved dagger tightly gripped in it, brutally upwards, hooking the blade into the Praetor's right eye, blinding the Romulan in that eye.

He screamed now, the Praetor. It was impossible not to do so now, but he rose to his feet. He knew he was finished. He would not give this Human the pleasure of continuing the fight. He would not provide these barbarians with a spectacle.

Standing straight, he said, "Finish it, Human. I refuse to provide you with any further sport."

The Human straightened as well, hearing the truth in the Praetor's words, though one could tell from his readiness that he would not lower his guard, no matter what the Praetor said. The Emperor approached the Romulan, looked the Praetor in his one remaining eye.

"I did not know that you Humans could be this vicious," said the Praetor, with a grim smile.

"You have no idea," said Malcolm, then suddenly pierced the Romulan's torso a few inches above the groin and drew his blade forcefully upwards. The Romulan screamed, then fell to his knees, his hands going to his stomach, to feel, to his horror, his intestines spilling out.

The Praetor fell forwards, his green blood pooling around his body, the blood loss too extensive and too sudden to allow the Praetor to live, and the Emperor tossed his blade atop the Praetor's body: he considered the steel fouled by the blood of this creature, who had been the cause of so much misery.

The Emperor's eyes swept across the Imperial Senate, and he said, "Remember our agreement."

* * *

Arriving at the coordinates communicated by the Emperor's fleet, the Green Machine found itself somewhere in the Bassen Rift. It was a barren system, for the only thing orbiting the Class O Dark Blue Star was a single rocky planetoid, but the sensors also revealed the presence of twenty ships of the Black Wind, Ares among them, in addition to a large Andorian troop carrier. One by one, the ships of the Green Machine docked to the troop carrier, and the crew abandoned the Romulan replica, after giving the ship's computer one final command which placed the ship in standby mode for remote operation from the Bridge of the Ares. Hours later, every ship in the Green Machine stood abandoned, and Trip stood with T'Pol on the Bridge of the Ares, looking at the ships in which they'd gambled their lives these past few months.

"Captain," said Trip, for he and T'Pol were finally back aboard the Ares, her new command, and the Vulcan looked at her mate.

Trip sent a mental image to T'Pol, which instructed the Vulcan on how best to dispose of the Romulan replicas. T'Pol nodded, and punched in the coordinates herself, then initiated the last voyage of the Green Machine. Simultaneously, the replicas powered up their engines and headed directly into the sun at 1/20th impulse power. It took three minutes of travel time before they were swallowed by the sun, and the crews of the Green Machine watched them all the way in, the video monitors toning down the blue star's brightness to a safe level.

"That's a damned shame," said Trip.

He loved those ships as only a mechanic and engineer could, but he understood the need of it. They could leave no evidence that such a fleet had ever existed in Federation hands, so that if the Romulans should ever attempt to convince the Klingons that the Federation was the cause of their war, the Klingons would dismiss those stories as the ravings of lunatics and liars, absent proof.

"I imagine you could rustle up some Andorian Ale for us, or maybe some tequila," said Malcolm, looking at Trip with a grin, "so that we can toast your lost fleet."

"I imagine I could," said Trip. "Come."

Malcolm moved to follow, but then saw Talas stepping forward, clearly intending to come along.

"Emperors and Fleet Captains only," said Malcolm, fixing Talas with a glance, for he intended to pick Trip's mind on some of the intricacies of being in a relationship with an alien, and the proper means to move such relationships forward. "Lt-Commander Talas, take Tactical until we reach Andor."

Talas shot her Emperor a dark look, then turned to T'Pol, left hand clenched into a fist, and said, "Captain T'Pol, this, this bromance, this, this outrage, it must be stopped! At any cost!"

"I was just thinking the same thing, Lt-Commander Talas," said T'Pol, her voice hard, for she rather liked Talas, and enjoyed humoring her. "We will do what we must."

Trip smiled, Malcolm snorted, and the Bridge crew laughed openly at the mutiny brewing right under their noses.


	11. Chapter 11

**—Chapter 11—**

Trip and Malcolm entered the private medical suite which housed the former Emperor, Talrood. Accompanied by four of Malcolm's bodyguards, they were guided by an orderly to find Talrood walking slowly with the aid of a walker, his physical therapist close by.

"Move faster, Brother! The untworts are coming for you!" yelled Trip, making reference to the large predatory lizards of the ice.

Talrood looked up at them and laughed. It was good to have visitors, for he'd been miserable since the day he'd been shot, and weak as a newborn babe. He grasped Trip's forearm weakly in a Guard's salute for a Brother, and Trip was privately dismayed by how fragile Talrood still looked, but there was still fire in his eyes, which meant everything. Malcolm greeted Talrood next, before dismissing the Andorian's therapist. Malcolm's guards also exchanged a few words with Talrood, for he'd been well respected, and these Guards were personally known to him.

"I hear you've done Andoria proud, Highness," said Talrood with a smile, seating himself slowly on his bed. "Led an Andorian fleet into Romulan space, killed their Praetor in hand to hand combat despite his physical advantages, and then made them choose between peace or destruction. You're a hero now, for Andorians, for the Federation."

"You're genuinely proud of me," said Malcolm to Talrood, in surprise, for a Human might well have been jealous to see another do so well in his former place.

"And why not, Highness? I chose you," said Talrood. "It pleases me that I judged you well, and some of your glory spills on me, due to that choice."

"The glory will have to spill on you in a far off place," said Malcolm, "for I intend to exile you to the toilet bowl of the Andorian Empire, Ank'Arra, lest you plot my overthrow."

Ank'Arra was a mining colony on a miserable planet, and the conditions there were quite primitive.

"No matter, Highness," said Talrood. "I thank you for watching over my consort and my unborn child. Elarann tells me she's been well protected on your orders."

Malcolm nodded and smiled, as one of Talrood's doctors came up with a tray of food for his patient.

"Highness," said the doctor, looking at Malcolm.

"Doctor," said Malcolm. "What is Talrood's prognosis?"

"He's weak, but getting stronger daily now. Three months, and he'll be walking out of here. A year and he'll be back to his old self. Perhaps sooner if he's willing to push himself hard in his physical therapy."

"Thank you, Doctor," said Malcolm, and a few minutes later, after making some notations in Talrood's charts, the doctor left them.

"What the hell is this shit?" said Trip, digging Talrood's spoon into a bowl of what seemed to be a fat jelly fish swimming in chowder, or maybe vomit. "It looks disgusting."

"It is," said Talrood, laughing, "but it's traditionally regarded as a health food, and it's considered the measure of a man, a true man, that he can consume it without throwing up."

To the disgust of his Human friends, Talrood took a spoonful, and shoved that repulsive mess into his mouth. Somehow, he still managed a smile.

"Care for a taste?" said Talrood.

"Ugh," said Trip. "We're not that manly, Talrood."

"Well," said Malcolm, holding out his hand, "if you've got the strength to eat that crap, Talrood, you've got the strength to rule again."

He opened his hand and held out the Imperial Signet Ring for Talrood.

"Take it, you prick," said Malcolm with a grin, for he was still Emperor and could speak to Talrood as he wished, "before I change my mind."

"You're sure, Highness?" said Talrood, overcome by the Human's gesture. "You're well respected now, more than enough to hold the throne, and I would support you as well."

"I'm sure, Talrood," said Malcolm. "Andoria should have an Andorian Emperor. Thanks for the loan though. It came in handy."

Talrood took the signet ring and slowly placed it on the ring finger of his left hand.

"You are Tel'Kar," said Talrood, looking at Malcolm, "and you speak in my name until I leave this hospital."

Malcolm had spent a great deal of time studying the Andorian political system since his appointment as Emperor, and he knew that Tel'Kar was a title of Andorian nobility and it was a statement of the highest trust in the man named as such, for if a Tel'Kar named an Emperor as unfit or dishonorable, his word would carry great weight, and a Tel'Kar was eligible for the throne himself, to set right, what was wrong in the Empire. There were a dozen or so Tel'Kar in the Empire, but Malcolm knew he was the most accomplished now, and if Talrood were assassinated, Malcolm would quite naturally fall back into the role of Emperor.

One of the Guards left the room, for this entire hospital was considered secure, and it was safe for him to leave his charge here. No doubt, within the hour, every Guard on Andoria would know that Talrood ruled once again.

"It may interest you to know that you're well off now," said Talrood, looking at Malcolm. "A Tel'Kar gets a yearly stipend equivalent to some two million of your Earth's credits, as well as a mansion in Laikan, and two vacation houses, either on Andoria, or off-world. He gets that stipend, so he can focus on his duty, rather than worry about making a living. You can choose your properties in the next few days. I'll have someone show you a portfolio. Or you can select them on Earth if you like, and we will purchase them for you."

"Thank you, Highness," said Malcolm, "that's very generous, but the real question is, do Andorian women love a Tel'Kar?"

"Almost as much as an Emperor," said Talrood with a grin, "but I believe Lt-Commander Talas will blow your brains out if she sees you flirting with another, Malcolm. I've seen the look in her eyes when you enter a room."

"Just as well," said Malcolm, with a rueful smile. "We're good for each other."

"Send her to me in the next day or so, Tel'Kar. I have already thanked Guardsman Bes, for my consort's life. I would like to thank her as well."

"I'll do so, Highness," said Malcolm. "I guess we all get a break now, a chance to relax."

"If you'd remained Emperor a while longer," said Talrood, "you would have learned that trouble is always just around the corner. Rest while you can, we'll all be needed once again, sooner rather than later."

* * *

"What are you doing?" said T'Les, as she watched Trip running some Vulcan web sites through an English translator.

He and her daughter had returned to Vulcan two days ago. T'Pol had gone to report to the High Command on the state of things, between the Romulans and the Federation, the Humans and Andorians, the Andorians and Vulcans, etc… She would be gone all day.

"Checking out real estate prices in the area, T'Les," said Trip. "T'Pol and I will probably spend half our time or more, here or on Andoria. It might be nice to have a home base around here. You and T'Pol have been getting along much better since I Bonded her, and I know that means the world to her, so I intend to find something close to you."

"I feel the same as T'Pol," said T'Les.

Trip nodded and said, "Don't tell her I gave you that bit of information, though, about how it means the world to her. I got that information through the Bond, and it might make things awkward on her end."

T'Les nodded.

"You spoke of needing a home base here, but you already have a home base, Trip,"said T'Les, puzzled. "This house has four bedrooms. Or do you find my presence objectionable?"

"No, T'Les. I'm quite fond of you, but I know how Vulcans feel about privacy," said Trip. "I don't wish to intrude on your peace of mind forever."

"You are not intruding, Trip," said T'Les. "You are my daughter's Bonded mate. This is your home on Vulcan, if you wish it to be, Trip. We're family."

"In that case, I do wish it, T'Les," said Trip, smiling openly at T'Les. "In return you'll promise to come with us, next time we vacation on Earth. My side of the family would love to meet you, and you'll love Florida. The heat there is quite oppressive in the summer, for Humans at least, but T'Pol found the temperature wonderfully pleasant."

"I would like that, Trip," said T'Les. "You have my promise."


End file.
